"You politely designated them as fools, and what they said you characterised as piffle. You had the exceedingly bad taste to sneer at various members of an ancient and established aristocracy--people who by inheritance from generations of social authority, require no toleration from such a man as you. "These are the people who are my friends; among whom I enjoy an established position. This position you now threaten by coolly going into business in New York. In other and uglier words you advertise to the world that you have abandoned your home and wife. "Of course I cannot help it if you insist on doing this common and disgraceful thing. "And I suppose, considering the reigning family's attitude toward divorce, that you believe me to be at your mercy. "Permit me to inform you that I am not. If, in a certain set, wherein I now have the entree, divorce is not tolerated,--at any rate where the divorced wife of an American would not be received,--nevertheless there are other sets as desirable, perhaps even more desirable, and which enjoy a prestige as weighty. "And I'll tell you now that in case you persist in affronting me by remaining in business in New York, I shall be forced to procure a separation--possibly a divorce. And I shall not suffer for it socially as no doubt you think I will. "There is only one reason why I have not done so already--disinclination to be disturbed in a social milieu which suits me. It's merely the inconvenience of a transfer to another equally agreeable set. "But if your selfish conduct forces me to make the change, don't doubt for one minute, my friend, that I'm entirely capable and able to accomplish it without any detriment or anything worse than some slight inconvenience to myself. "Whether it be a separation or a divorce I have not yet made up my mind. "There is only one reason why I should hesitate and that is the thought that possibly you might be glad of your freedom. If I were sure of that I'd punish you by asking for a separation. But I do not suppose it really matters to you. I think I know you well enough to know that you have no desire to marry again. And, as for the young woman in whose company you made yourself notorious before we were engaged--well, I think you would hesitate to offer her marriage, or even, perhaps, the not unprecedented privilege of being your _chere amie_. I do you the honour of believing you too fastidious to select a public fortune teller for your mistress, or to parade a cheap trance-medium as a specimen of your personal taste in pulchritude.