mischief is done--I trust it is not irreparable. I
certainly consider that before troubling that poor girl's
happiness,--you should have taken the precaution to inquire a little
further into the truth of the reports you heard from Sir Francis
Lennox,--he is not a reliable authority on any question whatsoever. You
may have thought him so--" he stopped short and regarded her with
sorrowful sternness--"I say, Clara, you may have thought him so,
once--but _now_? Are you proud to have shared his affections
with--Violet Vere?"

She uttered a sharp cry and covered her face with her hands,--an action
which appeared to smite her husband to the heart,--for his voice
trembled with deep feeling when he next spoke.

"Ah, best hide it, Clara!" he said passionately. "Hide that fair face I
loved so well--hide those eyes in which I dreamed of finding my life's
sunshine! Clara, Clara! What can I say to you, fallen rose of womanhood?
How can I--" he suddenly bent over her as though to caress her, then drew
back with a quick agonized sigh. "You thought me blind, Clara! . . ."
he went on in low tones, "blind to my own dishonor--blind to your
faithlessness,--I tell you if you had taken my heart between your hands
and wrung the blood out of it drop by drop, I could not have suffered
more than I have done! Why have I been silent so long?--no matter
why,--but _now_, now Clara,--this life of ours must end!"

She shuddered away from him.

"End it then!" she muttered in a choked voice. "You can do as you
like,--you can divorce me."

"Yes," said Lord Winsleigh musingly. "I can divorce you! There will be
no defense possible,--as you know. If witnesses are needed, they are to
be had in the persons of our own domestics. The co-respondent in the
case will not refute the charge against him,--and I, the plaintiff,
_must_ win my just cause. Do you realize it all, Clara? You, the
well-known leader of a large social circle--you, the proud beauty and
envied lady of rank and fashion,--you will be made a subject for the
coarse jests of lawyers,--the very judge on the bench will probably play
off his stale witticism at your expense,--your dearest friends will tear
your name to shreds,--the newspapers will reek of your doings,--and
honest housemaids reading of your fall from your high estate, will thank
God that their souls and bodies are more chaste than yours! And
last,--not least,--think when old age creeps on, and your beauty
withers,--think of your so