“Oh! I told you—that it—was from an acquaintance—who—confided to me some of her troubles—which—was intended for no other eye but mine. Yes! that was what I told you, Philip,” said Marguerite, confused, yet struggling almost successfully for self-control.
“Yes, I know you did, and doubtless told me truly so far as you spoke; but your manner was not truthful, Marguerite. You affected to treat that letter lightly, yet you took care to destroy it; you talked, jested, laughed with unprecedented gayety; your manner completely deceived me, though as I look at it from my present view it was a little overdone. You sang and played, and became Thalia, Allegra, ‘for this night only,’ and when the point toward which all this acting tended, came, and you made your desire known to me, you affected to put it as a playful test of my confidence, a caprice; but when you found your bagatelle treated seriously, and your desire steadily and gravely refused, Marguerite, your acting all was over. And now I demand an explanation of your conduct, for, Marguerite, deception will be henceforth fruitless forever!”
“Deception!”
“Yes, madam, that was the word I used, purposely and with a full appreciation of the meaning,” said Mr. Helmstedt, sternly.
“Deception! Heaven and earth! deception charged by you upon me!” she exclaimed, and then sank down, covering her face with her hands and whispering to her own heart, “I am right—I am right, he must never be told—he would never be just.”
“I know that the charge I have made is a dishonoring one, madam, but its dishonor consists in its truth. I requested you to explain that letter; and I await your reply.”
“Thus far, Philip, I will explain: that—yes!—that letter was—a connecting link in the chain of circumstances you spoke of—it brought me news of—that one’s peril of which I told you, and made me, still leaves me, how anxious to go to—that one’s help. Could you but trust me?”
“Which I cannot now do, which I can never again entirely do. The woman who could practice upon me as you have done this evening, can never more be fully trusted! Still, if you can satisfactorily account for your strange conduct, we may yet go on together with some measure of mutual regard and comfort; which is, I suppose, all that, after the novelty of the honeymoon is past, ordinarily falls to the lot of married people. The glamour, dotage, infatuation, that deceived us into believing that our wedded love was something richer, rarer, diviner than that of other mortals like us, is forever gone! And the utmost that I venture to hope now, Mrs. Helmstedt, is that your speedy explanation may prove that, with this mystery, you have not brought dishonor on the family you have entered.”
“Dishonor!” cried Marguerite, dropping her hands, that until now had covered her face, and gazing wildly at her husband.
“Aye, madam, dishonor!”