Mr. Aylett lifted his hand, smiling more evilly than before.

"Excuse the interruption! but after your statement of the fact that

such sentimental asseverations would be futile, you waste time in

recapitulating the loves of the lady aforementioned, and we in

hearing them. I think I express the opinion of the audience--fit,

but few--when I say that we require no other evidence than that

afforded by the story I have told of Mrs. Lennox's susceptibility

and capacity for affection. We are willing to take for granted that

the latter was illimitable."

"As you like!" idly tapping the nails of her left hand with the

knife. "Is there anything else pertaining to this history into which

you would like to inquire?"

It was a sight to curdle the blood about one's heart, this duel

between husband and wife, with double-edged blades, wreathed with

flowers. Mr. Aylett's attitude of lazy indifference was not exceeded

by Clara's proud languor. He laughed a little at the last question.

"I have speculated somewhat--having nothing else in particular to

engage my mind on my way home--upon the point I named just now, and

upon one other akin to it. All that the novel needs to round it off

neatly is an encounter between the real and the quasi consorts. I

cannot specify them by name, in consequence of the uncertainty I

have mentioned. One was a bona-fide husband--the other a bogus

article, let New York divorce laws decide what they will, provided

always that the fallen Julius had not bidden farewell to this lower

earth before his loyal Louise plighted her faith to her Southern

gallant. Death is the Alexander of the universe. There is no retying

the knots he has cut."

From the pertinacity with which he returned to the question one

could discern his actual anxiety to have it settled. Mabel

understood that the only salve of possible application to his

outraged pride and love was the discovery that Clara had been really

a widow when he wedded her. The divorce and subsequent deception

were sins of heinous dye against his ideas of respectability and

unspotted honor, but he would never forgive the woman who had had

two living husbands, freed from the former though she was by a legal

fiction.

No one saw this more clearly than did she whose fate trembled upon

the next words she should utter. With all her hardihood, she

hesitated to reply. Luxury, wealth, and station were on one side;

degradation and poverty on the other. The solitary hope of

reinstatement in the affection, if not the esteem, of him she loved

truly as it was in her to love anything beside herself, was arrayed

against the certainty of alienation and the tearful odds of

ignominious banishment.




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