"Oh good Lord!" ejaculated Mrs. Winslow. "James, are you actually thinking of that? Mind, I don't care for myself. I have a home and all I want. But for you and those boys, are you really contemplating it?"
"No!" he said. "All I'm thinking of is whether it is my duty to hunt her up and once more convince myself that she is heartless vanity personified, and utterly indifferent to me personally, as I am to her."
"Suppose you do go to her and find that through pique, because you made the move for separation yourself, she wants to try it over, or to get the boys again—she's got a mint of money. Do you know just how much she has?"
"I do not, and I never did," he replied. "Her funds never in any part were in my hands. I felt capable of making all I needed myself, and I have. I earn as much as it is right I should have; but she'd scorn my plan for life and what satisfies me; and she'd think the boys disgraced, living as they are."
"James, was there an hour, even in your honeymoon, when Nellie forgot herself and was a lovable woman?"
"It is painful to recall, but yes! Yes indeed!" he answered. "Never did a man marry with higher hope!"
"Then what——?" marvelled Mrs. Winslow.
"Primarily, her mother, then her society friends, then the power of her money," he answered.
"Just how did it happen?" she queried.
"It began with Mrs. Blondon's violent opposition to children; when she knew a child was coming she practically moved in with us, and spent hours pitying her daughter, sending for a doctor at each inevitable consequence, keeping up an exciting rush of friends coming when the girl should have had quiet and rest, treating me with contempt, and daily holding me up as the monster responsible for all these things. The result was nervousness and discontent bred by such a course at such a time, until it amounted to actual pain, and lastly unlimited money with which to indulge every fancy.