Scott had decided to remove to New York. There were several reasons why he wished to change his place of residence. One was that he thought a change would be beneficial to his mother, who grieved so over the loss of his father, whom she had deeply loved. Another reason he had, he thought that Irene might be happier if she were removed from the object of her foolish infatuation. He had learned from his own keen observation that she was not what a true wife should be, and he resolved that no lack of duty on his part should make her more unhappy. She was his wife, bound to him by God’s law, and if he had made a great mistake, either by his own lack of penetration or her artfulness, it must be borne by both until the end came. There was no other alternative. He would persuade her, if possible, and if that were not sufficient he would command her to be more careful in future. Already the voice of slander was wafted on the winds, and Scott felt that he could bear anything better than disgrace; and should that ever come to his home, his worst heartache would be for his mother and sister. June was as 129 true as steel, and his mother, even though she had been led into a foolish vanity, had the highest regard for virtue.
Scott had noticed that Rene did not act as prudent as she should, and he had carefully watched her movements, hoping that his fears were groundless. He had at one time watched his opportunity, and disguising himself, saw Max and Irene leave the opera together, and following closely, caught a portion of their conversation. They had turned on a dimly lighted street, and no doubt, thought they were quite unobserved. Scott’s first impulse was to rush up and confront the guilty pair, as any other less calculating than he would have done, but after a moment’s reflection decided to follow quietly.
“No,” Irene was saying in answer to some question Max had asked. “No, I shall always love you, but I must be miserable as long as I live. I love you better than any one in all the world, but we can only be friends.”
“But, my darling, my beautiful angel,” he said. “I cannot live without you, and your husband does not care for you as I do; and if you will only tell him what a mistake you have made, he will be satisfied.”
“Oh, I wish he knew, but I cannot tell him.”
“There are other ways without having an unpleasant interview.”
Scott did not hear Irene’s reply, but he had heard enough to blight the very life of a heart less brave than his, and possessing a love as strong as his own, and when they turned the next corner he hurried to 130 his own room to decide what was best for him to do in the matter. He had taken a shorter route home, and when Irene entered he was sitting quietly by his own fireside.
He had looked the matter over, and after careful study decided to leave the home of his youth and look for happiness elsewhere. His father had now been dead six months, and by promising his mother that his remains should be removed, she consented to make the change. June shed many a tear at the thought of leaving her old home, but she never opposed the arrangement, thinking that Scott might be happier elsewhere. She had observed that he was far from happy, although he had never spoken one word to her in a disparaging way of his wife, but she knew he was aware of Rene’s vanity. She had often thought she would tell him what she knew, but a fear of making him more unhappy restrained her; and thus the days passed by, and the dark gulf between the husband and the one who should have been his greatest comfort was each day growing broader and deeper, and its waters more bitter, until they seemed at times to throw high their huge waves and carry him down to despair. But his brave manhood would assert its power, and, rising above the waves of grief and shame that surged about him, Scott Wilmer stood firmly upon the rock of his lofty aspirations, and by the strength of his mighty will emerged with a new purity of heart and purpose. He firmly resolved that when they were settled in their new home he would seek an interview with his wife, and perhaps when she was away from her present surroundings, and 131 he had reasoned with her, she might forget her foolish infatuation.
They grew more and more like strangers. Perhaps, he thought, it might be in a measure some fault of his own, and if there could be a way to rebuild their lost happiness, he would do all in his power to make amends for the past. His love, and he feared his respect also, was growing less, but he would be true to her as long as she lived. He would screen her as long as she gave him the right. When he imparted to her his intention to seek another home she made no reply. She really did not know whether she was glad or sorry. In one way she was delighted—she would find a place where there would be a greater amount of gaiety, but she would be so sorry to leave Max. So studying between the two conditions, she received the news indifferently.