"Yes; your mother," Julie echoed. "Before she sat ten minutes in this room she had told all she knew--do you understand me?--_all she knew_! I was your friend till then. I don't pretend I was not cut to the heart by Craig's mad marriage. I would have given my right hand to prevent it. Hadn't I seen you before you ever entered his studio? Didn't I know how vulgar your associates were? Perhaps your 'Amy' was the drunken little fool who created a scene in the restaurant where I made your acquaintance? But I tried to put that out of mind when I accepted the marriage. I took you into my own home; I hoped to school you to fill your new place in life worthily." "And have I not?" Jean interpolated proudly. "Have I shamed you or him?" Julie scorned reply. "But I knew nothing of the refuge story," she railed on. "I never suspected the awful truth when you evaded every question I asked about your girlhood. I knew your past had been common; I could not dream it had also been criminal." "Julie!" Atwood entreated. "The time has come for plain dealing," she answered him. "You will live to thank me for opening your eyes." Jean took a step nearer her accuser. "Let her go on," she challenged contemptuously. "She only distorts what I have told you already." Julie's dark face grew thunderous. "Do I!" she retorted. "Let us see. What have you told Craig of this man Bartlett? What have you told him of the flat at the Lorna Doone? Where are your glib answers now? Can you suppose that, knowing your history, I would suspect nothing when Satterlee put you out of countenance at the Copley Studios? A double, indeed! From that moment you avoided the place. From that moment every shift of yours strengthened my belief that I had stumbled on one more murky chapter of your life. Satterlee's memory improved; he recalled your twin's name. Thereafter my investigations were child's play. Can you, dare you, deny that you were known at the Lorna Doone as Bartlett's wife?" Jean's face grew pale; Craig's, her agonized glance perceived, was whiter still. "It was a mistake," she answered. "They thought--" "Ah!" Julie's cry was long-drawn, triumphant. "Do you hear, Craig? She admits that she was known as Mrs. Bartlett. My poor brother! By her own confession you have married either a discarded mistress or a bigamist!" Jean's brain whirled. That passion could put such a monstrous construction on her conduct, passed belief. "Lies!" she gasped. "Prove them false!" "Lies, cruel lies!" Atwood sprang to her side. "I could not believe them, Jean," he cried. "You are too honest, too pure--" "Prove them false!" Julie challenged again. Jean turned her back upon her.