Thus equipped, she had descended on the happy pair, and a most painful scene had ensued. D’Antri, confronted with the documents, had made no denial, but had tearfully assured Blanche that he had supposed the woman dead. Be this as it might, the first wife had been so adamantine as to refuse with scorn the rich allowance d’Antri offered her, and had carried the matter to the Italian courts. There it was promptly decided that, as Amadeo’s princely title was chiefly honorary, and carried no royal prerogatives of morganatic unions, the first marriage held. “So I am without a home and without a name,” laboriously translated Letty, punctuating her daughter’s written sentences with snuffle and moan. “What am I to do? Poor Amadeo is disconsolate. It would break your heart to witness his grief. But he cannot help me. Most of our ready money has gone into the houses we have bought and other necessaries. The bulk of my dot is, of course, deeded to Amadeo, according to continental custom, and it seems the poor fellow’s ignorance of finance has led him to invest it in such a way that for the present it is all tied up. I am without money, without friends. _Helas!_ I——” “In other words,” interpolated Caleb, “he’s got her cash nailed down, and now he’s kicking her out dead broke, while he and the other woman——” “I start to-morrow for Paris,” continued the letter. “I have just about money enough to get me there, and I shall stay with the Pages until you can send for me. Oh, Mother, _please_ make it all right with Father if you can. Don’t let him blame poor Amadeo. You know how Father always——” “Well, go on!” commanded the Railroader grimly. “That’s about all,” faltered Letty. “The rest is just——” “A eulogy on the old man, eh? Let it go at that. Now——” “Oh, what _are_ we to do?” drivelled the poor woman, sopping her eyes. “And all the——” “All the splurge we made, and the way our dutiful girl was going to boost us into the Four Hundred?” finished Caleb. “Thank the Lord, it comes too late for a campaign document! But I guess it about wrecks my last sneaking hope of landing on the social hay-pile. Never mind that part of it now. We’ll have all the rest of our lives to kick ourselves over the way we’ve been sold. And I’ll give myself the treat, as soon as I can get away, of running over to Yurrup and having Friend d’Antri sent to jail for bigamy and treated real gentle and loving while he’s there, if a million-dollar tip to the right politicians in Italy will do it. And I guess it will. But I _can’t_ get away till after this election business is all cleared up. And Blanche’s got to be brought home right off. Jerry!” His son’s momentary interest in the family crisis had already lapsed. He was sitting, stupid, glazed of eye, staring at the floor. At his father’s call he glanced up.