If Jennie had not been the most innocent of women she could not have failed to know that Mrs. Bowers was perfectly cognizant of her secret, and was only laughing in her sleeve all the while that she appeared so stupid and good-natured to the new victim of her employer.
"I am heartily tired of the little fool," he said to her one day in confidence, when the autumn days had given place to the freezing ones of winter; "I wish I could get rid of her."
"Your fancy was soon over this time," remarked Mrs. Bowers.
"Her own fault," grumbled the wretch. "In the first place she was too lightly won. In love more than half the pleasure lies in the pursuit, and 'lightly won is lightly lost.' She is changed now, also. How rosy and bright she was at first—how pale, how altered, how plain she is now!"
"She is ill," said Mrs. Bowers, in a significant tone.
"The deuce!" exclaimed Leon Vinton, angrily. "Why, then, I surely must get rid of her. But how to do it—that's the question!"
"Tell her the truth—that she is not married at all—and send her home to her parents," said the woman, heartlessly.
He did not reply for a moment, but paused to light a cigar and place it between his lips. Then he threw himself back on the lounge where he sat, and remarked indifferently:
"Yes; I suppose I shall have to do that. There will be a scene, I suppose."
Mrs. Bowers merely laughed in reply, as if he had uttered the most harmless jest. She was thoroughly wicked and heartless, and cared not a jot for the miseries of the whole world.