Sibyl.
After the degrading and disgraceful scene of last night you must be aware that any further intercourse between us is impossible. Prince Rimânez and I are leaving for London; we shall not return. You can continue to reside at Willowsmere,—the house is yours,—and the half of my fortune unconditionally settled upon you on our marriage-day will enable you to keep up the fashions of your ‘set,’ and live with that luxury and extravagance you deem necessary to an ‘aristocratic’ position. I have decided to travel,—and I intend to make such arrangements as may prevent, if possible, our ever meeting again,—though I shall of course do my best for my own sake, to avoid any [p 383] scandal. To reproach you for your conduct would be useless; you are lost to all sense of shame. You have abased yourself in the humiliation of a guilty passion before a man who despises you,—who, in his own loyal and noble nature, hates you for your infidelity and hypocrisy,—and I can find no pardon for the wrong you have thus done to me, and the injury you have brought upon my name. I leave you to the judgment of your own conscience,—if you have one,—which is doubtful. Such women as you, are seldom troubled with remorse. It is not likely you will ever see me or the man to whom you have offered your undesired love again,—make of your life what you can or will, I am indifferent to your movements, and for my own part, shall endeavour as much as may be, to forget that you exist.
Your husband,
Geoffrey Tempest.
This letter, folded and sealed, I sent to my wife in her own apartments by her maid,—the girl came back and said she had delivered it, but that there was no answer. Her ladyship had a severe headache and meant to keep her room that morning. I expressed just as much civil regret as a confidential maid would naturally expect from the newly-wedded husband of her mistress,—and then, giving instructions to my man Morris to pack my portmanteau, I partook of a hurried breakfast with Lucio in more or less silence and constraint, for the servants were in attendance, and I did not wish them to suspect that anything was wrong. For their benefit, I gave out that my friend and I were called suddenly to town on urgent business,—that we might be absent a couple of days, perhaps longer,—and that any special message or telegram could be sent on to me at Arthur’s Club. I was thankful when we at last got away,—when the tall, picturesque red gables of Willowsmere vanished from my sight,—and when finally, seated in a railway smoking-carriage reserved for our two selves, we were able to watch the miles of distance gradually extending between us and the beautiful autumnal woods of poet-haunted [p 384] Warwickshire. For a long time we kept silence, turning over and pretending to read the morning’s papers,—till presently flinging down the dull and wearisome ‘Times’ sheet, I sighed heavily, and leaning back, closed my eyes.
“I am truly very much distressed about all this;” said Lucio then, with extreme gentleness and suavity—“It seems to me that I am the adverse element in the affair. If Lady Sibyl had never seen me,——”
“Why, then I should never have seen her!” I responded bitterly—“It was through you I met her first.”
“True!” and he eyed me thoughtfully—“I am very unfortunately placed!—it is almost as if I were to blame, though no-one could be more innocent or well-intentioned than myself!” He smiled,—then went on very gravely—“I really should avoid scandalous gossip if I were you,—I do not speak of my own involuntary share in the disaster,—what people say of me is quite immaterial; but for the lady’s sake——”
“For my own sake I shall try to avoid it;” I said brusquely, whereat his eyes glittered strangely—“It is myself I have to consider most of all. I shall, as I hinted to you this morning, travel for a few years.”
“Yes,—go on a tiger-hunting expedition in India,”—he suggested—“Or kill elephants in Africa. It is what a great many men do when their wives forget themselves. Several well-known husbands are abroad just now!”