"What do you mean?"
"I presume the expensive establishment at Brompton is not kept up on nothing—your widow must have lots of money."
"I don't know and I don't care. I love the darling for herself. You have always had an unpleasant word to say about Caroline; I shall be sorry if my marriage is going to break up our friendship."
"What I said was intended for your good, Alfred, but if the die is cast I have finished. Shake hands, wed Mrs. Selby as soon as you like, and I wish you much happiness."
When you have a serious regard for a man, as I had for Drummond, it grieves you to the heart to see him commit an irreparable act of folly. I was quite confident that the widow was not all she represented herself to be, and that her present mode of life was to some extent enveloped in mystery. When there is so much secrecy, there is always something objectionable to hide. But you might as well try to turn the tide as endeavour to convince a lover that there are any imperfections in his sweetheart. The day for the marriage was at hand, and I was anything but reconciled to it. What business was it of mine? You see we were like brothers. Our friendship began at college, and became cemented when we both secured Government appointments in the same office. Although our natures were entirely different, Drummond's wayward, mine consistent, no two individuals could repose greater confidence in each other. It was not because his marriage would to some extent separate us that I objected to it. I may have many faults, but selfishness is not one of them. I made certain that my friend would be one of those rash individuals who "marry in haste to repent at leisure," and my surmises turned out to be only too correct.
He had reason to have dark forebodings himself. A letter she hid on his appearance and refused to show him caused him considerable uneasiness, and once he came suddenly upon her close to her house in deep conversation with a man, to whom she did not proffer to introduce him. He was so much under her influence at the time, she no doubt managed to explain these trifling matters to his entire satisfaction. The letter was probably a bill from her dressmaker, and the stranger her solicitor's clerk. When she was reported to be ill and confined to her room, I saw her in a box at the Haymarket Theatre, but this fact I kept to myself. They were married, and went to the Continent for the honeymoon, and on their return they took up their residence at the villa. His stay in this fool's paradise was but of short duration. They had only been settled down about three months, when he made the unpleasant discovery that he had married a living man's wife.
In his terrible trouble he came to me for advice. The man who represented himself as the real husband had threatened all manner of actions at law, but agreed to do nothing until twelve o'clock the following day. His story, plausible enough, was that, on going into the interior of the country at the Cape to trade, he had been captured by the natives, and been kept a prisoner for over two years. A friend who was with him—who succeeded in escaping—left him on the field for dead, and reported the decease of her husband to Mrs. Selby. On one condition I agreed to assist Drummond out of his difficulty, and that was, that he must separate at once from the lady. As he loved the woman to distraction, this was a hard blow; but he at once saw the propriety of complying with the stipulation, and the next day I kept the appointment with Mr. Selby instead of my friend.
The meeting was to take place at the villa. On arriving there a few minutes before the time arranged, I was met by Mrs. Selby, with her attire in disorder and dishevelled hair.
"Where is he? He has not been here since yesterday," she exclaimed, clutching hold of me and bursting into a flood of tears.