“Mechanically I obeyed him. We entered his carriage together and drove, miles and miles, it seemed to me. I was very nervous and trembled violently. Horace tried to reassure me and stroked my hand tenderly.
“‘Brace up, little girl,’ he said; ‘you need all your strength for the ordeal before you. Perhaps I have done wrong to tell you this or to take you where you can see it, but you are too young, too good to be treated in this manner and you ought to see for yourself the depth of his depravity.’
“‘Do you think I will be any happier for being disillusioned?’ I asked. ‘Would it not have been better for me to have gone on blindly trusting? Oh, why did you tell me, why did I come, anyway?’
“‘If you wish to, we will return at once.’
“‘No, I must see it through to the bitter end. I could never be happy again now, knowing even as much as I do.’
“We drew up in front of a large house ablaze with light. We alighted, rang the bell, and were ushered into a sumptuously furnished parlor. Everything that was picturesque met the eye. Beautiful pictures and statues, elegant furniture and beautiful women, elaborately attired, and behind the palms in the corner was an orchestra. Everything combined to make the scene enchanting. I clung bewildered to Horace’s arm.
“He led me to a small room off a large salon, where there were many tables. It was a scene of wild revelry, wine flowed freely and the air was heavy with the odor of many flowers. Horace pointed out a table near the center of the room. Seated at this table were two women and a man. The women were horribly made up and gowned in extreme decollete gowns, only fit for the most formal affair, and were laughing boisterously at something.
“When the man turned his head I recognized my husband, and as I gazed he placed his hand on the exposed chest of one of his blasé companions, and patted it just as he had mine a thousand times when we first married. The spectacle was too revolting for words. I gave a slight scream. But Horace had anticipated some such occurrence and pressed my face against his broad shoulder. When I had partially recovered my normal condition we left. Back home—yes, now a home no longer! Back to the place where I had known so many happy days. Horace bade me good-night in the reception hall.
“‘Lucile,’ said he, ‘you don’t know how sorry I am to have been the one to change the whole tenor of your life, but it was more honorable in me, was it not, than to maintain silence?’
“‘Yes,’ I said, calmly.