"A cup of tea. I didn't mention her illness because I wasn't aware of it. I haven't had the pleasure of seeing Madame Blanche since we parted in the dining-room last night."
"Indeed!" said Mollie, stirring her chocolate slowly.
"And what's more," pursued the master of the house, "I don't care if I never see her again."
"Dear me, guardy! Strong language, isn't it?"
"It is truthful language, Mollie. Sleeping on a thing sometimes alters its complexion materially. Last evening I concluded to let things blow over and keep up appearances before the world. This morning I am resolved to let the world go hang, and teach one of the conspirators a lesson she won't forget in a hurry."
Mollie looked alarmed.
"Not a divorce, guardy? Surely not the public scandal of a divorce? All must come out then."
"Not quite a divorce," Mr. Walraven said, coolly; "its next-door neighbor. A quiet, gentlemanly, and lady-like separation."
"Guardy Walraven," said Miss Dane, solemnly, "don't do anything rash."
"I don't intend to. I've thought the matter well over. Didn't get a wink of sleep last night for it. We won't break our hearts"—with a cynical sneer—"myself nor my gentle Blanche. I don't know why we married, exactly. Certainly not for love, and we will part without a pang."