"About Lydia?" asked Mrs. Baxter with breathless animation.
"Yes. She sent for me as soon as she returned. I went to town to see her yesterday."
"Where has she been all this time?"
"Nominally, as we were told, travelling in Mexico for two months with her cousins; in reality coming to terms with Maxwell in regard to a divorce."
"Then they are really to be divorced? How pitiful! But I suppose it was the only solution. Do go on, dear," she added, fearing lest this crude philosophic digression might be the reason for the pause on Mrs. Cole's part.
But the narrator, though she regarded the comment as superficial, was merely arranging her material with a view to dramatic effect.
"We had a heart-to-heart talk. She told me everything. She wishes people to know—and to try to understand her point of view. Yes, Rachel, they are to be divorced. The papers are already filed. The lawyers say that it is simple enough, if both the parties are agreed, and it seems they are—all three of the parties rather. The court proceedings will be as secret as possible. Herbert is to let her obtain it from him—for cruel and abusive treatment or gross and confirmed habits of intoxication—to save Lydia's reputation on the child's account. Then Lydia is to marry Harry Spencer and live happily ever after—if she can."
"She never would have been happy with Maxwell," remarked Mrs. Baxter pensively. "Poor fellow! When one reflects that he probably was never cruel or abused her in his life, and that his confirmed habits, if he has them, are due to her neglect! What is to become of him?"
Mrs. Cole had been waiting for some such question. "The law is queer, you know," she said, by way of disposing of the rest of the plaint. Then she added, with significant emphasis, "He is to have Guen."