“There’s really very little to be told about this disagreeable affair; but it must be faced. The fact is that we are applying to a judge to have my first marriage--that shocking mockery of a marriage--annulled, and everybody says that there will be no difficulty whatever about it.” “I don’t suppose that there should be any difficulty, my dear,” said Mrs. Wingfield. “But what would be the good of it?” “Something has happened which makes it absolutely necessary,” replied Priscilla. “But it is really the case that what has happened will make it very much easier for the judge. The wretch who, with a charge of fraud hanging over him, did not hesitate to make the attempt to involve me in his ruin, went straight from the gaol to America.” Mrs. Wingfield nodded. “Don’t trouble yourself, dear,” she said. “I know all the story; it is not all squalid; you must not forget that he died trying to save the others.” “That was his lie,” cried Priscilla. “He managed to get safely to the shore and he turned up here trying to get money out of us to buy him off. Jack showed him the door pretty quickly; so now you can understand how necessary it is that we should have the marriage nullified. A judge can do it in five minutes. Jack has been to Liscomb and Liscomb, and they told him so.” (She was not now giving evidence in a court of law.) “Oh, yes; they had the opinion of Sir Edward upon it--five minutes! But in the meantime----” “That’s it--in the meantime,” said Mrs. Wingfield slowly. She seemed trying to think out some point of great difficulty which had presented itself to her mind. “In the meantime,” she repeated. “Am I right, Priscilla, in the meantime you--you----” “In the meantime, my dearest mother, if Jack were to die, and in his will refer to me as his wife, the judge of the Probate Court would decide that I should get whatever that will left to me. Is there anyone who will say that I am not Jack’s wife? You will not say it, and you are Jack’s mother.” “I certainly will not say it, Priscilla; but still--there are some who would say it, and--in the meantime--oh, it is terrible! my poor child; it is no wonder that there was a shadow cast upon your life. What you must have suffered--what you must still suffer! and how bravely you bore your burden in front of me!” Priscilla had flung herself on her knees beside the sofa, and put her face down to the cushion on which the mother’s head was resting; but her tears were not bitter, and her sobs were soft. So she lay, her right arm about the shoulders of the other, for a long time, in complete silence. At last she raised her head from the cushion, and then bowed it down to the pale face that was there until their tears mingled. “I know what you are thinking, dearest,” she whispered. “You are thinking that in the meantime I should not be in this house. Is not that so? Oh, I knew that that was your thought; but it will not be your thought when I tell you that....”