“The more’s the pity,” the doctor replied, with an expression on his face which, had Everard cared for or even respected the woman before him, would have prompted him to knock the rascal down. “The more’s the pity,—for me, at least. I’ve called myself a fool a thousand times for having cut off my nose to spite my face.” “What do you mean?” Josey asked, and he replied: “Oh, nothing; only, can’t you get a divorce? I don’t believe he cares two cents for you.” “I know he don’t,” and Josey shrugged her shoulders significantly; “but so long as he keeps me in money I can stand it.” “And does he do that pretty well nowadays?” “Yes, so-so; he is awfully afraid of his father, though, and I do not blame him. Such an old curmudgeon. I saw him last summer.” “You did? Where?” “Why, at Amherst; at Commencement. I went to the president’s reception, and made Everard introduce me, and tried my best to captivate the old muff, but it was of no use; he took a dreadful dislike to me, and expressed himself freely to his son, who reported to me——” “The mean coward to do that,” the doctor exclaimed, and Josephine replied, “No, not mean at all. I made him tell me just what his father said. I gave him no peace till he did, for I wanted the truth, so as to know how far to press my claim to recognition; and I made up my mind that my best plan was to keep quiet a while, and let matters adjust themselves. Maybe the old man will die; he looked apoplectic, as if he might go off in some of his fits of temper, and then won’t I make the money fly, for no power on earth shall keep me from the Forrest House then.” “And you’ll ride over everybody, I dare say,” the doctor suggested, and she answered him, “You bet your head on that,” the slang dropping from her pretty lips as easily and naturally as if they were accustomed to it, as indeed they were. “Is Everard greatly improved?” was the next question, and Josephine replied, “Some would think so, perhaps, but I look upon him as a perfect milksop. I don’t believe I could fall in love with him now. Why, he is just as quiet and solemn as a graveyard; never laughs, nor jokes, nor smokes, nor anything; he is fine-looking, though, and I expect to be very proud of him when I am really his wife.” “Which you never shall be, so help me Heaven!” was Everard’s mental ejaculation, as he ground his teeth together.