"Yes, and I ask if it's a dignified or decent thing for you to have to do?—to go running round assuring your friends of your virtue!" cried Richard furiously. "Let me tell you this, my dear: at whatever door you knock, you'll be met by disbelief. Fate played you a shabby trick when it allowed just that low cad to put his head in. What do you think would be left of any woman's reputation after Grindle Esquire had pawed it over? No, Mary, you've been rendered impossible; and you'll be made to feel it for the rest of your days. People will point to you as the wife who takes advantage of her husband's absence to throw herself into another man's arms; and to me as the convenient husband who provides the opportunity"—and Mahony groaned. In an impetuous flight of fancy he saw his good name smirched, his practice laid waste.
Mary lifted her head at this, and wiped her eyes. "Oh, you always paint everything so black. People know me—know I would never, never do such a thing."
"Unfortunately we live among human beings, my dear, not in a community of saints! But what does a good woman know of how a slander of this kind clings?"
"But if I have a perfectly clear conscience?" Mary's tone was incredulous, even a trifle aggrieved.
"It spells ruin all the same in a hole like this, if it once gets about."
"But it shan't. I'll put my pride in my pocket and go to Amelia the first thing in the morning. I'll make it right somehow.—But I must say, Richard, in the whole affair I don't think you feel a bit sorry for me. Or at least only for me as your wife. The horridest part of what happened was mine, not yours—and I think you might show a little sympathy."
"I'm too furious to feel sorry," replied Richard with gaunt truthfulness, still marching up and down.
"Well, I do," said Mary with a spice of defiance. "In spite of everything, I feel sorry that any one could so far forget himself as Purdy did to-night."
"You'll be telling me next you have warmer feelings still for him!" burst out Mahony. "Sorry for the crazy lunatic who, after all these years, after all I've done for him and the trust I've put in him, suddenly falls to making love to the woman who bears my name? Why, a madhouse is the only place he's fit for."
"There you're unjust. And wrong, too. It ... it wasn't as sudden as you think. Purdy has been queer in his behaviour for quite a long time now."