her.

"Well," he said, "I see that I must explain myself if I mean to make my
peace with you, Janetta. I am, perhaps, not so bad as you think me. I
have not mentioned to Miss Adair that Julian's mother is alive, because
I consider myself a free man. Julian's mother, once my wife, has
divorced me, and is, I believe, on the point of marrying again. Surely
in that case I am free to marry too."

"Divorced you?" Janetta repeated, with dilating eyes.

"Yes, divorced me. She has gone out to America and managed it there. It
is easy enough in some of the States to get divorced from an absent wife
or husband, as no doubt you know. Incompatibility of temper was the
alleged reason. I believe she is going to marry a Chicago man--something
in pork."

"And you are legally free?"

"She says so. I fancy there is a legal hitch somewhere but I have not
yet consulted my lawyers. We were married by the Catholic rite in
France, and the Catholic Church will probably consider us married still.
But Margaret is not a Catholic--nor am I."

"And you think," said Janetta, very slowly, "of marrying Margaret?"

He looked up at her and laughed, a little uneasily.

"You think she won't have me?"

"I don't know. I think you don't know her yet, Wyvis."

"I dare say not," said her cousin. Then he broke out in quite a
different tone: "No wonder I don't; she's a perpetual revelation to me.
I never saw anything like her--so pure, so spotless, so exquisite. It's
like looking at a work of art--a bit of delicate china, or a picture by
Francia or Guido. Something holy and serene about her--something that
sets her apart from the ordinary world. I can't define it: but it's
there. I feel myself made of a coarse, common clay in her presence: I
want to go down on my knees and serve her like a queen. That's how I
feel about Margaret."

"Ah!" said Janetta, "my princess of dreams. That is what I used to call
her. That is what I--used to feel."

"Don't you feel it now?" said Wyvis, sitting up and staring at her.

Janetta hesitated. "Margaret is my dear friend, and I love her. But I am
older--perhaps I can't feel exactly in that way about her now."

"You talk as if you were a sexagenarian," said Wyvis, exploding into
genial laughter. He looked suddenly brighter and younger, as if his
outburst of emotion had wonderfully relieved him. "I am much older than
you, and yet I see her in the same light. What else is there to say
about her? She is perfect--there