"He did. I first heard it through Miss Bennett, your _protégée,_ who has come back, and is now a governess at Mrs. Brereton's. But when I questioned Sir Edwin himself, he did not deny it." "You questioned him?" "Certainly. I felt it to be my duty. He says that he knew you in your father's lifetime; that he was intimate with you both: that you and he used to sing duets together; in short, that--" "Go on. I wish to hear it all." "That is all. And I am sure, Mrs. Grey, it is enough." "It is enough. And he has been saying this, and you have been listening to it, perhaps repeating it to all Avonsbridge. What a wicked woman you must be!" The words were said, not fiercely or resentfully, but in a sort of meditative, passive despair. A sense of the wickedness, the cruelty there was in the world, the hopelessness of struggling against it, of disentangling fact from falsehood, of silencing malice and disarming envy, came upon Christian in a fit of bitterness uncontrollable. She felt as if she could cry out, like David, "The waters have overwhelmed me, the deep waters have gone over my soul." Even if she were not blameless--who is blameless in this mortal Life?--even if she had made a mistake--a great mistake--her punishment was sharp. Just now, when happiness was dawning upon her, when the remorse for her hasty marriage and lack of love toward her husband had died away, when her heart was beginning to leap at the sound of his step, and her whole soul to sun itself in the tender light of his loving eyes, it was very, very hard! "Well, Mrs. Grey, and what have you to say for yourself?" Christian looked up instinctively--lifted her passive hands, and folded them on her lap, but answered nothing. "You must see," continued Miss Gascoigne, "what an exceedingly unpleasant story it is, and how necessary it was for me to speak about it. Such a matter easily might become the whole town's talk. An acquaintance before your marriage, which you kept so scrupulously concealed that your nearest connections--I myself even--had not the slightest idea of it. You must perceive, Mrs. Grey, what conclusions people will draw--indeed, can not help drawing. Not that I believe--I assure you I don't--one word against you. Only confide in me, and I will make the matter clear to all Avonsbridge. You hear me?" "Yes" "And now, my dear"--the energy of her protection making Aunt Henrietta actually affectionate--"do speak out. Tell me all you have to say for yourself." "Nothing." "Nothing? What do you mean?" It may seem an odd thing to assert, and a more difficult thing still to prove, but Miss Gascoigne was not at heart a bad woman. She had a fierce temper and an enormous egotism, yet these two qualities, in the strangely composite characters that one meets with in life, are not incompatible with many good qualities.