“Wait a minute, Dick,” she said faintly. “I don’t quite grasp it. Do you mean to say that Max Nugent,—the man who professed to love, and asked to marry our little innocent Violet,—has taken another man’s wife away from him?”
The Major nodded violently.
“Yes—it’s in all the papers. Wantyn’s wife, ‘the beautiful Lady Wantyn,’ as the feminine asses of the fashion papers call her. He has taken her—or she has gone with him—one is as bad as ’tother. Anyhow they are off—sloped from Paris last night, reached the South of France this morning—Nugent’s yacht was waiting for him at Marseilles—and they are away, the Lord knows where! And everybody will sympathise with the miserable cad because he is a millionaire. I tell you it is in all the papers—and one penny-a-liner has already put in print that it is the outcome of an ‘old and romantic’ love affair! Old and romantic! By Jove! A little old and romantic treatment of the right sort would do them both good,—a few of the old and romantic notions which put a bullet through a rascal’s head, and whipped a bad wife at the cart’s tail! That would be the proper ‘old and romantic’ way to deal with them!”
But Miss Letty sat very still, her hands clasped in her lap,—her eyes full of pain.
“My poor Violet!” she murmured at last. “Poor little girl! Dick, what shall we do?”
“I don’t know,” said the Major despairingly. “I came here post haste to ask you to keep the newspapers away from her for a day or two,—but it’s no use now—if she has gone to the theatre she will see Nugent’s name on all the placards. And if she does by chance miss it, one of her friends will be sure to see it and tell her.”
“You forget, Dick,” said Miss Letty, “that no one in England knows of Max Nugent’s connection with her, and only two or three in America. That is very fortunate! How wise you were in not allowing any engagement to take place! You have saved Violet much indignity. It is true the poor child will have to bear her trouble alone, but I think that is better than if she had to endure the possibly contemptuous pity of her friends.”
“Yes, that’s true,” said the Major. “There would be no real sympathy whatever for her,—all the feeling in our latter-day social sets goes out to the moneybags. Nugent’s a villain,—but he will be turned into a hero by the time Wantyn gets his divorce. Didn’t I tell you I never liked that glass in his eye?”
Miss Letty could not smile. She was thinking of Violet. She glanced at the clock.
“Violet will soon be coming back,” she said. Poor, poor Violet! I dread seeing her face! I think I should have died if my Harry had been false to me!”