“Tell me, then.”
“Your brother, Reginald.”
Lady Gwendolyn changed color.
“Is it worth while?” she asked coldly. “Pauline is sure to take care that we do not keep friends long, in case we should compare notes.”
“You may compare notes as long as you like; you cannot hurt Pauline more than she has hurt herself.”
And Sir Lawrence told his wife the miserable, guilty story, knowing quite well that the very idea of Reginald’s being in trouble would make his generous, impulsive little wife forget her own wrongs in a moment.
And so it was.
“Oh! poor Reggie, how very shameful and wicked! How could she?—how could she?” was all Lady Gwendolyn could say. “She promised me so faithfully she would be a good wife for the future, if I would not tell my brother the truth.”
“And perhaps she meant it all the time, Gwen; but she had got into the habit of these intrigues, and could not live without the excitement. If she had had children she might have been a better woman; but she did not care for Lord Teignmouth from the first, and then he did leave her too much liberty.”
“I told him so once, but he said that a wife who needed watching was not worth keeping. Then she always pretended to be such a prude.”