edly,
holding out his hand.

Lord Winsleigh grasped it cordially. "My dear fellow, so am I! Heartily
sorry! I have to be sorry for a good many things rather often. But I'm
specially grieved to think that your beautiful and innocent young wife
is the victim in this case. Unfortunately I was told nothing till this
morning, otherwise I might possibly have prevented all your unhappiness.
But I trust it won't be of long duration. Here's this letter," he
returned it as he spoke, "which in more than one way has cost so large a
price. Possibly her ladyship may now regret her ill-gotten purchase."

"Pardon me," said Errington curiously, "but how did you know--"

"The information was pressed upon me very much," replied Lord Winsleigh
evasively, "and from such a source that up to the last moment I almost
refused to believe it." He paused, and then went on with a forced smile,
"Suppose we don't talk any more about it, Errington? The subject's
rather painful to me. Only allow me to ask your pardon for my wife's
share in the mischief!"

Something in his manner of speaking affected Sir Philip.

"Upon my soul, Winsleigh," he exclaimed with sudden fervor, "I fancy
you're a man greatly wronged!"

Lord Winsleigh smiled slightly. "You only _fancy_?" he said quietly.
"Well,--my good friend, we all have our troubles--I dare say mine are no
greater than those of many better men." He stopped short, then asked
abruptly, "I suppose you'll see Lennox?"

Errington set his teeth hard. "I shall,--at once!" he replied. "And I
shall probably thrash him within an inch of his life!"

"That's right! I shan't be sorry!" and Lord Winsleigh's hand clenched
almost unconsciously. "I hope you understand, Errington, that if it
hadn't been for my son, I should have shot that fellow long ago. I dare
say you wonder,--and some others too,--why I haven't done it. But
Ernest--poor little chap! . . . he would have heard of it,--and the
reason of it,--his young life is involved in mine--why should I bequeath
him a dishonored mother's name? There--for heaven's sake, don't let me
make a fool of myself!" and he fiercely dashed his hand across his eyes.
"A duel or a divorce--or a horsewhipping--they all come to pretty much
the same thing--all involve public scandal for the name of the woman who
may be unhappily concerned--and scandal clings, like the stain on Lady
Macbeth's hand. In your case you can act--_your_ wife is above a shadow
of suspicion--but I--oh, my G