“I suppose there are people,” she went on, “who have never known what it was to--really to care for some one else. They would despise me for clinging to a man after he has shown me that--that his love has ceased.” “Pardon me, Mrs. Langdon,” I interrupted. “You apparently think your husband and I are intimate friends. Before you go any further, I must disabuse you of that idea.” She looked at me in open astonishment. “You do not know why my husband has left me?” “Until a few minutes ago, I did not know that he had left you,” I said. “And I do not wish to know why.” Her expression of astonishment changed to mockery. “Oh!” she sneered. “Your wife has fooled you into thinking it a one-sided affair. Well, I tell you, she is as much to blame as he--more. For he did love me when he married me; did love me until she got him under her spell again.” I thought I understood. “You have been misled, Mrs. Langdon,” said I gently, pitying her as the victim of her insane jealousy. “You have--” “Ask your wife,” she interrupted angrily. “Hereafter, you can't pretend ignorance. For I'll at least be revenged. She failed utterly to trap him into marriage when she was a poor girl, and--” “Before you go any further,” said I coldly, “let me set you right. My wife was at one time engaged to your husband's brother, but--” “Tom?” she interrupted. And her laugh made me bite my lip. “So she told you that! I don't see how she dared. Why, everybody knows that she and Mowbray were engaged, and that he broke it off to marry me.” All in an instant everything that had been confused in my affairs at home and down town became clear. I understood why I had been pursued relentlessly in Wall Street; why I had been unable to make the least impression on the barriers between Anita and myself. You will imagine that some terrible emotion at once dominated me. But this is not a romance; only the veracious chronicle of certain human beings. My first emotion was--relief that it was not Tom Langdon. “I ought to have known she couldn't care for _him_,” said I to myself. I, contending with Tom Langdon for a woman's love had always made me shrink. But Mowbray--that was vastly different. My respect for myself and for Anita rose. “No,” said I to Mrs. Langdon, “my wife did not tell me, never spoke of it. What I said to you was purely a guess of my own. I had no interest in the matter--and haven't. I have absolute confidence in my wife. I feel ashamed that you have provoked me into saying so.” I opened the door. “I am not going yet,” said she angrily. “Yesterday morning Mowbray and she were riding together in the Riverside Drive. Ask her groom.” “What of it?” said I. Then, as she did not rise, I rang the bell. When the servant came, I said: “Please tell Mrs. Blacklock that Mrs. Langdon is in the library--and that I am here, and gave you the message.”