“What other rumor?”
“That you are to marry Louisa Dobede.”
“It is not. I have no intention of marrying any one. Nay, I will say it more strongly; it is my intention not to marry any one—to remain as I am.”
Barbara lifted her eyes to his in the surprise of the moment.
“You look amused, Barbara. Have you been lending your credence to the gossips, who have so kindly disposed of me to Louisa Dobede?”
“Not so. But Louisa Dobede is a girl to be coveted, and, as mamma says, it might be happier for you if you married again. I thought you would be sure to do so.”
“No. She—who was my wife—lives.”
“What of that?” uttered Barbara, in simplicity.
He did not answer for a moment, and when he did, it was in a low, almost imperceptible tone, as he stood by the table at which Barbara sat, and looked down on her.
“‘Whosoever putteth away his wife, and marrieth another, committeth adultery.’”