But when the footman had the same answer for all—namely, that Mrs. Jack Wingfield was “not at home,” the feeling was very general that it was rather too soon for Mrs. Jack Wingfield to give herself airs, though it seemed that airs were to be looked for from her as inevitably as in an opera by Balfe.
Another day brought the newspapers, but there was still no news, in even the most enterprising of them all, bearing upon the incident which had caused Mrs. Jack Wingfield to think that for some time at least she would do well to be “not at home” to any visitors.
But on the afternoon of the third day a visitor called to whom she did not deny herself. Her father was admitted and found himself awaiting her coming in the library. She did not keep him waiting for long.
“Well, father, is not this a shocking business?” she said, before he had even greeted her.
“A shocking business! A shocking business to find you still here, Priscilla,” he said.
“Where should I be if not with my husband?” she said.
“Your husband! Your husband isn’t here; you know that well, my girl.”
“The only husband I have ever known is here. Please do not fancy that I recognize as my husband that contemptible fraud to whom you gave me.”
“However badly he treated you, however grossly I was taken in by him, he is still your lawful husband. Marriage according to the rites of the Church is a sacred bond. It is not in the power of man to sever it. You swore ‘for better for worse.’”
“I did not swear at all. That is one of the fictions of the Church like the ‘Love, honour, and obey’ paragraph. Do you tell me that I must honour a felon, love a trickster, and obey a blackguard?”