r. It was the thought of Bobby
that had come to her. How tragic and ridiculous to think of giving her
son two fathers besides the real father who had died when he was a baby!
Yes, this thought was nothing less than hideous. The absurdity in it was
grim as the _risus sardonicus_. And yet--and yet---- Like poor Desdemona
she perceived here a divided duty. This duty to her son was
tremendous--yet was there not also a duty towards the man who had loved
her for long years, whom she had told that she loved in return? Perhaps,
when Bobby had grown up---- Yes, that would make things different. But
could any man be constant for all those added years--had she a right to
ask such constancy? And even then--to take a third husband! The words of
Christ to the woman of Samaria came back to her: ".... _Thou hast well
said, I have no husband. For thou hast had five husbands; and he whom
thou now hast, is not thy husband._"... Five husbands or three ... what
real difference was there? She felt stunned with self-abasement and
misery. A voice within her kept crying: "Too late! too late!" But when
she thought of her life without him it seemed vain and empty. Even the
thought of her son could not fill that void.

* * * * *

Nano Amaldi's injuries proved far less serious than was at first
believed. Within ten days after his accident he was able to travel, and
he and Marco went together to stop with their mother on the Brenta, near
Venice--where she had taken a friend's villa for the months of September
and October.

From this place Amaldi wrote to Sophy, asking her if it would not be
possible for her to come to Venice during the autumn. His mother longed
to see her, and people could hardly talk if they met occasionally under
such circumstances. He also told her in this letter that Barti, the
family lawyer, had gone to Switzerland to inquire about the formalities
necessary for the divorce.

Sophy had intended going to Italy in September. Now it seemed to her
that there could be no objection to her choosing Venice as a stopping
place. She longed to talk with the old Marchesa almost as much as she
longed to see Amaldi. To talk with his mother would lift some of the
load of doubt and pain from her heart, she thought.

But when she mentioned this plan to her cousin, Sue looked anxious. She
was thinking of Lady Wychcote--of what she might think and say when she
heard that Sophy was going to Italy. Her native shre