As the torn sleeve fell hack it revealed a
trickle of blood where the nail's sharp point had scored the skin, and
above that, marring the whiteness of the upper arm, an ugly, discoloured
scar. Cara made a hasty movement to conceal it, catching the gaping edges
of the sleeve together with her hand. Then, realising that it was too late,
she let them fall apart again and met Ann's horrified eyes with a long,
inscrutable gaze.
"Yes, it's ugly, isn't it?" she said bitterly. "All my married life
was--ugly."
"What do you mean?" Ann's voice shook. She felt as though she knew what was
coming--the story of how Cara came by that dreadful scar--and fought
against the knowledge with incredulous horror.
"Dene... my husband... he'd been reading a book which described how they
branded a woman... and he tried..." She broke off, shivering violently.
"No--_no_!" Urgently the denial sprang from Ann's stricken lips, as though
she sought by the sheer imperative violence of her disclaimer to make this
horrible thing untrue.
Cara nodded her head slowly.
"It's quite true... he used to drink... he was half mad at times. That was
one of them."
She had never again referred to the matter, nor to any other episode of her
unhappy married life, but since that day Ann had always the consciousness
of something unspeakably hideous which had lain in the background of Cara
Hilyard's life, marring it utterly, and the intense sympathy it aroused
within her had quickened the growth of the friendship between them.
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