"No, I fancy he wouldn't—but I should mightily. He isn't my husband."
"Not yet, unfortunately—you'll have to endure Harry Lorraine a bit longer. Pray that the longer may be very short—Oh! I'm not wishing him a corpse, Stephanie—before his time; but I would not prolong the time."
Stephanie smiled a little wanly. "Unfortunately you are not the ultimate one. He must go his course to the end, and so must I—alone—and yet together, unless he reconsiders. That, however, does not particularly interest me now—or rather this matter of Porshinger interests me much more. I'm going to have trouble with that man, Gladys, I'm sure of it."
"Aren't you anticipating, my dear?" asked Miss Chamberlain.
"Certainly, I'm anticipating what I'm convinced is in future for me. If it shouldn't happen, I'm fortunate to have escaped."
"And if it never threatens, you're unfortunate in having anticipated."
"I'm unfortunate anyway, so a little more or less won't matter," Stephanie answered.
"You unfortunate? A woman with your face and figure and presence—with true friends, both male and female—and Montague Pendleton. Oh, no! my dear, oh, no!—Oh, you may shrug those pretty shoulders. I know what you mean—but that is past and passing. You've had an experience, a wonderful experience, and you're the better for it, I think—and as you yourself know. It hasn't hurt you; it's only made you appreciate who are your friends and proven the extent of their regard."
"Was it just to my friends to have their regard for me put to such a severe test?"
"Why not? It didn't hurt them. Either they did or they didn't at the pinch—when you returned and looked for countenance. Some were timid about granting it, but granted it; others granted it straightway."