Claude came over to him, much affected by the deep emotion that had crept into his voice.
“Jim, I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know. I warned you because I didn’t believe she could love and respect you as you deserve. But when I heard you were engaged I believed you had melted her in a strange way.... I see now where the money came from.... God! and she was mean enough to do that—to my—my friend.”
Jim took him by the shoulder and steadied him.
“She saved your people from a big financial crash, anyway—remember that.”
“Is that any mitigation? I’d rather die in the 95 gutter than live on money that was obtained by a vulgar fraud. She acted a lie—a damned despicable lie. That sort of thing is done every day, but the man usually knows what he is doing, and hasn’t any scruples, and the girl sometimes learns to love him.... So we’re living on the benevolence and innocence of a man who isn’t good enough to be the real husband of a Featherstone. I wish to God my name were Smith or Jones—or anything that is honest....”
He broke away from Jim, humiliated by the knowledge that had come to him. On the morrow he dropped in at the club, his face set in a way strange to him.
“I dropped in to say good-bye, Jim.”
“Eh!”
“We had it all out last night—a real family gathering. I think I got a little militant. Anyhow, it’s better this way. What sort of chance is there for a chap like me in Canada, Jim?”
Jim put down his newspaper and stared.