'Well, I suppose you have Alice's story through Brenda? It comes to the same thing. I can see you are prejudiced against me.'
Mrs. Wylie smiled patiently, with a suggestion of sympathy, which her companion seemed to appreciate.
'The world,' she said, 'is sure to be prejudiced against you in the present case. You must remember that the moral code is different for a pretty woman than for the rest of us. Moreover, the husband is blamed in preference, because people attribute the original mistake of marrying to him. I don't say that men are always to blame for mistaken marriages, but the initiative is popularly supposed to lie in their hands.'
Captain Huston tugged at his drooping moustache pensively. He walked to the window, with the assurance of one who knew his way amidst the furniture, and stood for some time looking down into the street. Presently he returned, avoiding Mrs. Wylie's eyes; but she saw his face, and her own grew suddenly very sympathetic.
He played nervously with the ornaments upon the mantelpiece for some moments, deeply immersed in thought. There was a chair drawn forward to the fire, at the opposite end of the fur hearthrug to that occupied by Mrs. Wylie. This he took, sitting hopelessly with his idle hands hanging at either side.
'What am I to do?' he asked, half cynically.
Before replying, the widow looked at him—gauging him.
'Do you really mean that?'
'Of course—I am helpless. A man is no match for three women.'
'To begin with, you must have more faith in other people. In myself ... Brenda ... Theo Trist.'