Erard made no attempt to stem this impetuous passion. Women were powder mines, or brutes, if they had any spirit in them. This one had served him a panther’s trick.
“You have taught me to climb the same desolate hill where you have perched yourself. I have my freedom—I am alone now—but it would be better for me to be dead,” she concluded passionately.
“Do you regret that your husband has made it quite impossible for you to play the prodigal wife?”
Mrs. Wilbur gave him the look that is a blow.
“You are so low that we need not discuss my divorce. Indeed, we need not alter our way of life, so long as it interests me. When you cease to amuse my wits, I shall give you notice. Until then I shall be glad to continue my assistance. And I think it will be easier for both of us, now that we understand each other.”
“It might be better for your reputation, since you are divorced, to—”
“Thank you! You are tender of my reputation rather late. Remember that you have taught me to live above such philistine considerations. And I have explained sufficiently why I do not care to be Mrs. Simeon Erard.”
“We can hardly continue our former relationship under the circumstances.”
Mrs. Wilbur laughed lightly. “Don’t be so foolish as to try the heroic. Be the very wise man you have made me believe you are, and continue as if nothing had happened but a temporary aberration from reason on your part. Or, rather, a miscalculation that we can forget soon. And I may take myself away from your fold some day.”
Erard folded his arms and looked at her sneeringly.