“And these relatives of my wife—humble people, of course, but dear to me for the care they have given my darling—their names, Mrs. Keith?”
She started and flushed. It was the first time since her secret marriage, six years ago, that any one had ever called her by her husband’s name. Conquering the strange emotion it awoke in her breast, she answered:
“I do not know, but I will give you the London address of Florine Dabol, who used to be her maid. Florine was in my service, and helped to alienate your wife from you and drive her away. She knew where she went, but she kept it a secret in order to extort money from me. I hope you will punish her for her wickedness, for she has been bleeding me all these years, until between the support of my child and paying her hush-money over and over, the allowance I had from my aunt was spent, until I could barely dress myself decently.”
She drew a pencil from her pocket, and rapidly, though with a shaking hand, wrote on a slip of paper Florine Dabol’s address.
“That is where I send her money,” she said, handing it to Cecil Laurens.
He took it with a courteous bow and a word of thanks.
“Now you have done all that you can to make amends, Louise, we will go. Of course Mr. Laurens will be anxious to see you gone,” said John Keith, sadly.
“On the contrary, Mr. Keith, I beg that you, with your wife and child, will accept the hospitality of Maple Shade for tonight at least,” answered Cecil Laurens, gravely; for he said to himself that he had no quarrel with John Keith, who had himself endured such bitter suffering through a woman’s ambition.
John Keith declined gratefully, but decisively, the offered hospitality.
“We will go now,” he added.