“Yes. I have heard. He seems to have—felt it a good deal! It is always painful to be discovered, and for a man’s wife to leave him before the honeymoon is over is hurtful to his pride. He makes periodic efforts to find me, but my lawyers are loyal, and will give no clue.”
“And the settlement? The money you made over to him? Does he draw that still?”
She flushed and frowned.
“No. It appears not. He tells the lawyers that he will never touch it. I suppose if he changed his manner of living it would be remarked, and people might guess something of the truth. His object is, of course, to throw all the blame on me.”
The bitterness of her voice hurt me so that I ventured a timid protest.
“Charmion, I am not taking his part. I think he was contemptible beyond words; but—isn’t it possible that he has regretted, that he has not taken the money because he was ashamed?”
“Possible, of course; but I should say extremely improbable. However, I am no longer concerned in his motives. He gave up his liberty for a certain price, and the price is his. The money accumulates at the bank. Some day, no doubt, he will find it convenient to draw it.”
I felt a movement of revolt, and cried quickly:—
“There is one person I despise even more than the man himself, and that is the creature who kept that letter, and sent it to you too late to prevent the marriage! If it were to be done at all, why could it not have been done before?”
Her lips curved.