Listen, Owen Davies, and father: Beatrice,
who sits there"--and she pointed at her with her thin hand--"_Beatrice
is a scarlet woman!_"
"I really don't understand," gasped Mr. Granger, while Owen looked round
wildly, and Beatrice sunk her head upon her breast.
"Then I will explain," said Elizabeth, still pointing at her sister.
"She is Geoffrey Bingham's _mistress_. On the night of Whit-Sunday last
she rose from bed and went into his room at one in the morning. I saw
her with my own eyes. Afterwards she was brought back to her bed in his
arms--I saw it with my own eyes, and I heard him kiss her." (This was
a piece of embroidery on Elizabeth's part.) "She is his lover, and has
been in love with him for months. I tell you this, Owen Davies, because,
though I cannot bear to bring disgrace upon our name and to defile my
lips with such a tale, neither can I bear that you should marry a girl,
believing her to be good, when she is what Beatrice is."
"Then I wish to God that you had held your wicked tongue," said Mr.
Granger fiercely.
"No, father. I have a duty to perform, and I will perform it at any
cost, and however much it pains me.
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