"Yes, separated; she died in New Orleans, I believe."
"And yet you profess to love him! A man who broke his wife's heart," said Beulah, with a touch of scorn.
"No; you do his noble nature injustice. He is incapable of such a course. Even a censorious world acquitted him of unkindness."
"And heaped contumely on the unhappy victim, eh?" rejoined Beulah.
"Her conduct was not irreproachable, it has been whispered."
"Aye, whispered by slanderous tongues! Not openly avowed, to admit of denial and refutation! I wonder the curse of Gomorrah does not descend on this gossiping, libelous community."
"No one seems to know anything definite about the affair; though I have often heard it commented upon and wondered over."
"Clara, let it be buried henceforth. Neither you nor I have any right to discuss and censure what neither of us know anything about. Dr. Hartwell has been my best and truest friend. I love and honor him; his faults are his own, and only his Maker has the right to balance his actions. Once for all, let the subject drop." Beulah compressed her lips with an expression which her companion very well understood. Soon after the latter withdrew, and, leaning her arms on the table near her, Beulah sank into a reverie which was far from pleasant. Dismissing the unsatisfactory theme of her guardian's idiosyncrasies, her thoughts immediately reverted to Eugene, and the revolution which five years had effected in his character.
In the afternoon of the following day she was engaged with her drawing, when a succession of quick raps at her door forced an impatient "Come in" from her lips. The door opened, and she rose involuntarily as the queenly form of Cornelia Graham stood before her. With a slow, stately tread she approached, and, extending her hand, said unconcernedly:
"I have waived ceremony, you see, and come up to your room."