“Not to disown her husband. To let him at least be her friend—her penitent, humble friend. We are man and wife. If I were to say so publicly, she would admit it. In this respect at least I have been generous: will she not be generous too? What harm could it do her if we lived under the same roof, and I took her to the theater, and fetched her home, and did little friendly offices for her?”
“And so got the thin edge of the wedge in, eh? Mr. Severne, I decline all interference in a matter so delicate, and in favor of a person who would use her as ill as ever, if he once succeeded in recovering her affections.”
So then she dismissed him peremptorily.
But, true to Vizard's interest, she called on him again, and, after a few preliminaries, let him know that Severne was every night behind the scenes.
A spasm crossed his face. “I am quite aware of that,” said he. “But he is never admitted into her house.”
“How do you know?”
“He is under constant surveillance.”
“Spies?”
“No. Thief-takers. All from Scotland Yard.”
“And love brings men down to this. What is it for?”