She sat down again. The brightness had faded from her. She looked older than I’d have believed she could. “Well—I see it’s useless,” she said finally. “And as I’ve got to stay over here, I simply must marry again. You understand that?”
“Perfectly,” said I.
“Don’t you care the least bit?” said she wistfully.
“You wish me to be unhappy about it,” laughed I, “to gratify your vanity.”
She sighed again.
“You are content with the settlements?”
“Oh, yes,” said she wearily.
No doubt you, gentle reader, are now completely won over to her and think that the least I could in decency have done would have been to insist on her accepting half my fortune. I had no impulse toward that folly. There is a kind of wife who can justly claim that she is the equal partner in her husband’s wealth. But not the Edna kind. I had made my fortune in spite of her. Nor was I keen to give her any more money than I should be compelled; why turn over wealth to her to fritter away and to bolster the pretensions of a family of worthless Italian aristocrats?
With a sudden darting look at me, she said: “You know Frascatoni. What do you think of him?”
“A fine specimen,” said I. “A fascinating man.”