"Why did you say that you had lived with my husband at Nîmes?" retorted Olive sharply. "That you'd let the divorce suit go undefended?"
It thundered upon Rivière what Elaine had done for him—how she had wrought her miracle—and that moment cleared his mind of all doubt and hesitancy.
"I've heard sufficient," he cut in.
"You've not heard all I've got to say!" pursued Olive vindictively, and a torrent of words poured out from her: "It was a pretty scheme your Miss Verney had planned! She was to egg me on to divorce you, so that she could get a clutch on your feelings and marry you and your money! Your money—that puts it in a nutshell! That's the kind of woman a man like you falls in love with! A woman who's too shrewd and too cunning to commit herself. Who provokes and tantalizes and lures on a man, and then stops him short at the very last moment. The musical-comedy type. The 'mind the paint' girl. A hundred times worse than the frankly vicious. A woman who knows that a week of living with a man would sicken him of her. Who's shrewd enough to tantalize him into hand-and-feet marriage. That's your Miss Verney. You're welcome to her as Miss Verney! So long as I live, you'll never have her as your wife! That's my last word—my absolute final last word!"
Olive rose from her chair, quivering in every limb, and swept out of the room.
Elaine bowed her head in the shame of those bitter words.
Rivière came to her side and kissed her hand reverently.
"You did this for me. I understand all. Elaine, dear, I understand it all. There's no need for you to explain."
"You don't believe——?"
"Not a word of it! You're the sweetest, bravest——" Words failed him, and he could only take her hand tenderly in his and let his welter of unspoken thoughts go silently to her.