Then, and then only, they knew what had happened.

Face to face, those three persons--with every tie that had once
united them snapped asunder in an instant--looked at each other.
The man owed a duty to the lost creature whose weakness had
appealed to his mercy in vain. The man broke the silence.

"Catherine--"

With immeasurable contempt looking brightly out of her steady
eyes, his wife stopped him.

"Not a word!"

He refused to be silent. "It is I," he said; "I only who am to
blame."

"Spare yourself the trouble of making excuses," she answered;
"they are needless. Herbert Linley, the woman who was once your
wife despises you."

Her eyes turned from him and rested on Sydney Westerfield.

"I have a last word to say to _you_. Look at me, if you can."

Sydney lifted her head. She looked vacantly at the outraged woman
before her, as if she saw a woman in a dream.

With the same terrible self-possession which she had preserved