"For me, but not for you. For you the worst's over," his companion boldly observed.
"Over? with all my life made hideous?"
There was a certain sturdiness in Vidal's momentary silence. "You think so now———!" Then he added more gently: "I grant you it's hideous enough."
Tony stood there in the agony of the actual; the tears welled into his hot eyes. "She murdered—she tortured my child. And she did it to incriminate Jean."
He brought it all back to Dennis, who exclaimed with simple solemnity: "The dear little girl—the sweet, kind little girl!" With a sudden impulse that, in the midst of this tenderness, seemed almost savage, he laid on Tony's shoulder a hard, conscientious hand. "She forced her in. She held her down. She left her."
The men turned paler as they looked at each other. "I'm infamous—I'm infamous," said Tony.
There was a long pause that was like a strange assent from Dennis, who at last, however, brought out in a different tone: "It was her passion."
"It was her passion."
