"The scene which followed was exquisitely amusing. I have never seen a woman weep to such an extent before. Positively my charming Carlotta was enchanting. I was quite sorry at length when she assumed a mantle of dignity, and left me. Still, this is only the first of many such scenes if I engineered them properly. I see that Carlotta is in possession of all the emotions, so that, by studying her alone, I shall be in a position to add some really extraordinary chapters to my great book on women and their ways.
"March 19th, 1887. Carlotta has afforded me a month of absolute enjoyment. Why do people pay money to sit in stuffy theatres and watch comedies and tragedies when they can see and hear the real, palpitating thing for nothing? Outwardly, Carlotta and myself are at daggers drawn. She thinks I am unrepentant and angry, but, as to myself, I have never been more cheerful and happy in my life. And when Carlotta threatens to leave me, I ask her why she is going, knowing perfectly well that she has not the slightest intention of leaving me. Women are very much like cats in these matters--they will make many sacrifices for the sake of the domestic hearth. I was talking to Dr. Sacci, the great surgeon, the other day, and he was telling me of the fierce joy that comes through some new discovery which has been the outcome of vivisection. But, then, Sacci is only working in the interests of humanity, whereas my vivisection allows me to see the exquisite suffering of the patient. I can study the nerves, and the palpitating wound, at the very moment when the knife enters.
"December 21st, 1887. The last chapter in my book is by far the most brilliant and searching which I have yet added to that fascinating volume. Whatever Carlotta suffers in the present, she shall go down to posterity as the martyr of her sex. I will place her on a pinnacle as high as my own. Indeed, I was almost sorry when I had to tell her the story of the love-letter, and how I had been playing on her feelings all these months. At the same time, I looked forward to the explanation, because I knew that it would open up to me a fresh phase of womanly nature. And I confess that it did with a vengeance. Carlotta turned pale. She stood there looking as if she were filled with the greatest physical agony, her eyes filled with tears which did not fall. I don't know how many days it is since she spoke to me last, but certainly it must be upwards of a fortnight. This is not exactly what I expected. It is only when a woman talks that one can judge of how the experiment is progressing. Tomorrow, all being well, I am going to adopt a new scheme which I hope will have the desired effect.
"December 22nd, 1887. Our little Vera has disappeared. Evidently she has been kidnapped with a view to a reward. The whole neighbourhood is up in arms, and my wife is distracted. It has often been a favourite theory of mine that every man takes a second place in a woman's affections as soon as her first child is born. I look back now with a vivid recollection of the early days when I first met Carlotta. I look back to her passionate love scenes, and her declarations that I should be first with her, then and always. Even though I was very much enamoured, I had my doubts when I was alone, and in a position to debate the matter clearly. The time has come to put the question to a test, and thus it became necessary for Vera to disappear. I might say at once that my theory has been vindicated to the letter. I now know that Carlotta cares far more for Vera than she does for me. The reflection is not soothing to one's vanity, but there it is. There is a wildness and intensity in her grief, which she never would have experienced had I been brought home to her in the last stage of dissolution. I must keep this up. I must work this phase as long as it lasts, which will not be an indefinite time, because I must not drive my patient too far. She begins to show signs of collapse already. I think at the end of a week I must have Vera brought back again. By the expiration of that time, I fancy I can add another chapter to my remarkable book."
Walter stopped for a moment, his voice was full of loathing and disgust. An honest indignation almost choked him. He saw now that his anger and contempt were reflected on the face of Ravenspur.
"Do you want me to read any further," he said, "or is that sufficient? Shall I tell you, for instance, what happened after this inhuman wretch brought his child home again? Shall I tell you of other tortures and tyrannies, and how this scoundrel rejoices in the fact that his neighbours like him and pity him because he is married to a bad-tempered woman, who makes his life a burden? That is the note that runs all through this extraordinary diary. The man uses it as a weapon to play upon the feelings of his wife. If you are not yet satisfied I will pick out----"
"No, no," Ravenspur cried, as he rose to his feet. "I have heard enough and more than enough. Flavio must have been a madman; and yet I regarded him as one of the best and noblest of men. I never dreamt he had an enemy. I never knew anybody say a word against him. And to think that a man of the world like myself should be deceived in this way! Everything is now growing wonderfully clear before my eyes, Walter. I can even understand why the Countess left her daughter behind her. Fancy suffering all that trouble and humiliation to find, later on, that the child you had done so much for was likely to turn out as her father had done! In the last ten minutes you have proved that I was wrong, and the Countess was right; and yet it seemed to me that I was justified in my actions. I don't know what I am going to do. I don't know what steps I can take to convince that unhappy woman that I acted for the best. At any rate, I must make a beginning before I go to bed tonight."
Ravenspur took up the volume and went down the stairs. In the drawing-room, the Countess, Mrs. Delahay, and Vera were still seated, talking earnestly together. Ravenspur crossed the room to the Countess's side and held out the book.
"Do you know what this contains?" he asked. "I suppose you have read it from cover to cover?"
"Once," said the Countess, with a shudder, "but never again."