She had taken a resolution. Without replying she moved towards the door.
“Stop!” cried Laura Stanbridge. “Understand me distinctly. I have nothing to say against you personally. I do not dislike you, but as for him——”
“No more. Say no more. You have done your worst.”
“Do not be sure of that. Possibly worse is to follow.”
Mrs. Grover moaned and sank back in her chair. There was no life in her eyes but one tear which struggled freely down her cheeks—no life in her frame but a slight quivering in her hands.
Laura Standbridge looked at her with a smile. Then she drew the marriage certificate from her pocket and read it over carefully, and she took the last sip of her parfait amour.
After awhile her companion recovered herself. She arose, and, holding up one hand in a deprecating manner, she passed out of the café.
“Unhappy woman!” exclaimed Miss Stanbridge, after she had gone, “She little thinks that she is not likely to see her son this side of the grave. Strange that the body has never been found—drifted out, I suppose, and never will be recovered. All things considered we must deem ourselves fortunate.”