“Mother!” the girl cried, in a pleading voice, like one warding off a cruel blow; but Mrs. Howard was outraged in her love and pride. She pushed off the little hands Fair extended toward her, and said scornfully:
“Never call me by that name again! I will have no more to do with one who, by her own confession, has been so mercenary, wicked, and deceitful.”
With a moan of despair, Fair shrank away and fled from the room. Then Mrs. Howard recalled the physicians, and, leaving them with the unconscious man, went to seek the prince in the room where he was imprisoned.
She wished to hear from his own lips the story of his marriage with Fair.
When she had heard it, just as Bayard had read it in the newspaper slip, she decided, just as he did, that Fair had been heartless and wicked, and that, of the two, her husband deserved the most pity.
“I own my fault; I won her hand by a lie. I pretended to be wealthy and that I was a cousin of Mr. Lorraine; but I thought I could win her forgiveness some time. I never gave up hope until she disappeared, and I heard that she had entered upon a bad life,” said Prince Gonzaga.
“That, at least, was a mistake,” said Mrs. Howard, and she told him the circumstances of her taking Fair under her protection.
“I am glad my shot missed her heart, then, for I can forgive her and love her still, and since I am now rich and titled she can have no objection to being my wife,” he said, with mingled joy and sarcasm.
Mrs. Howard agreed with him. She thought Fair would have a better fate than she deserved, that her husband could not be such a very bad man, after all, since he was willing to forgive her and take her back.
She hinted that she would like to hear how it was that he had committed suicide, as rumored, and then reappeared; and the prince, who had suddenly got in a very good humor, was perfectly willing to gratify her curiosity.