Constance looked at him timidly. A cold, creepy fear of something dreadful about to happen chilled her. Her blanched face and beseeching eyes warned him of very grave consequences.
“What is it, Judge?” she whispered with parched lips, “speak out; tell me what you have come for.”
“Are you strong enough?—I think—perhaps—I had better defer—”
“Oh, yes, my strength is not great—but—the suspense—I cannot bear. Let me hear—what it is.” He hesitated no longer.
“As your attorney, I have been served with a notice of an application for a divorce, by John Thorpe, from his wife, Constance.”
With bowed head he laid the document on the table.
She clasped her hand to her head, clutched the back of a chair for support, for the suddenness and weight of the blow staggered her. She, however, managed to bear herself bravely up.
“And—could—he really believe this of me?” she said distractedly.
“He has, at the same time, placed at your disposal in the National Bank a sum of money for your immediate wants.” He paused. A solemn quietness pervaded the room.
At length he continued in a low, grave tone: “I am prepared to receive instructions. Shall I give notice of your intention to resist his application for divorce?”