"I _made_ her tell me all," answered Eugenia. "Not that she wanted to soften it, but at first she was a little frightened. Afterwards I do believe she enjoyed telling me, though all the while affecting to do it so reluctantly. She cannot understand where I learnt what I already knew, and she shall never know. Oh, Sydney, she said hateful things! When I asked her how she could have interfered between her brother and Roma, when I told her that by so doing she had ruined _three_ lives, she said something about my romantic ideas, and hinted that if Beauchamp had known that he was to succeed his cousin, when he met me again at Nunswell, he would never have thrown himself away as he did. But I don't think I minded that; it seemed too coarse to touch me. Then, at the end, she seemed to get frightened again, and tried to soothe me down. She reminded me that no wife should expect her husband's full confidence as to the past, and she said that no girl could be so foolish as to imagine that a man like Beauchamp could have lived twenty-eight years in the world without love affairs of some kind. If it had not been Roma, it would have been some one else; I should think myself fortunate I had nothing worse to complain of. I dare say there is a sort of coarse truth in it--the world is a dreadful, miserable place; and, oh, Sydney, I wish I were dead!" There was nothing for it but to soothe and caress her into temporary calm. She was too utterly worn out to be capable of being reasoned with; it would have been cruel to attempt it. Much as Sydney felt for her--intensely as she pitied her--she could not for a moment deceive herself into thinking that Eugenia had acted well or wisely. It had been a wild impulse that had urged her to this foolish, undignified step--so her best friends would say, and the world would say yet harsher things--yet, oh, poor Eugenia, how well Sydney understood the tumult of her feelings--the peculiar agony to her nature and disposition of the wounds she had received, the bitter anguish of the disappointments she had had to endure! It was with a very sore heart Sydney left her for the night; it was with no small uneasiness she reflected on what she had to tell her husband, and tried to imagine what course he would determine on pursuing. For in certain directions Frank could see but one road; rough and thorny though it might be, he sometimes showed but scant tenderness for those who, he decided, must walk therein. He was a good man--a good and true-hearted man, but of some kinds of trial and temptation he knew as little as his own baby son. Sydney's misgivings proved to be not unfounded. Eugenia slept till late the next morning, for the first part of the night sleep had deserted her altogether. It was so late when she woke that Frank had already left the house, Sydney told her.