“Yes, I saw her to-day.”
“By chance?”
“Yes, by chance.”
“And you are friends again?”
“No, not friends.”
“Ah, you wished it, but she would not have it. I can see it in your face. O Frank, how could you humble yourself to such a woman? How could you? To hold out your hand to her and to be refused! Quelle dégradation! See how she has treated you—she, who is not worthy to be the wife of any honest man.”
The color sprang to Onslow’s pale cheeks. It was one thing to know his wife’s faults, and it was another to hear about them.
“That is an old story,” he said curtly. “We may let that drop.”
“An old story? Why, she was with De Mürger last week in London.”
“Fenella was?”