The divorce case, based on nonsupport and incompatibility of temper, had been cleverly managed by her lawyers without bringing them together again, and when she fainted on receiving the decree of divorce, all supposed it was from hysterical excitement; none guessed that the iron of despair had entered her soul on knowing herself parted forever from Leon Dalrymple.
She clung to his name still, with the excuse that it was for the sake of the unborn child, that it might bear the paternal name.
But with the coming of the beloved daughter one bitter drop always mingled with her cup of joy.
It was that he could not share her happiness.
His child looked at her with its father’s face, and had the sunny curls that had crowned his handsome head.
There was wordless reproach in the resemblance.
There are words of deeper sorrow
Than the wail above the dead;
Both shall live, but every morrow
Wake us from a widowed bed.