"Your honor is not sufficiently developed to feel it, there's the pity," he answered. "You will catch another man with the same indifference you forsook me, or were yourself forsaken by Amherst. And your basilisktic beauty will be fatal alike to them and to you."
"Are you a prophet?" she asked.
"One does not need to be a prophet to foresee the apparent," he retorted.
She laughed pityingly.
"You had me unpolluted—why did you not keep me so?" she asked. "I was yours, why did you not hold me fast? You could had you tried. If I am as beautiful as you would have me believe, you were not alone in knowing it. Therefore it was for you to guard me; you were my husband—and you did not. Hence you are either faithless or incompetent, so you have only yourself to blame."
"A naturally good woman doesn't have to be guarded," he sneered.
"Which shows how little—how very little—you know!" she smiled. "You are scarcely fit to be out of the nursery, Harry—you need a guardian, not a wife."
"The Divorce Court at least will relieve me of the wife," he retorted—"and I shall not want another very soon."
"I trust not," she replied.
Two horses trotted quickly around the bend—their riders rising and falling in perfect time. An amused smile broke over Stephanie's face when she recognized Helen Burleston and Devonshire. As they flashed by, the former nodded pleasantly, the latter raised his hat. Their surprised looks, however, were not concealed—nor Lorraine's embarrassed acknowledgment.