“Not so very late, my dear. I am sorry your head aches; would you not feel better to go out a little oftener?”
“Howard, you know I am not able. Besides, I'm weary of society. I do not find any congenial souls here; the most of them are growing so radical I feel heart-sick and weary whenever I think of mingling with them. No, Howard, I must be left to myself; my home and my husband are all on earth I care for. By the way,” she said, a trifle brighter, “have you heard that Hugh Wyman and his wife have been the means of separating a Mrs. Dalton and husband? I do wish that man was at the bottom of the Red-”
“Mabel!”
“Why do you always flare up so when I mention his name? I do believe that in your soul you care more for him than all the good men in this village.”
“I do.”
“You do? Then you are no better than he, in my opinion, and others, Howard; you will ruin your reputation if you associate with him.”
“I wish I was half as good as he is; that I had one fraction of his independence and manhood to help me through life. O, Mabel, lay aside your prejudices, and learn to see life for yourself, with unclouded vision.”
“You would have me mingle, then, with people who have no respect for the holy law of marriage; and people who talk as coolly of separation of men and women as they would of parting animals?”
“Who told you they were the cause of their separation?”
“Mrs. Ford. She spent an hour with me this evening.”