“With people coming to dinner to-morrow! A big dinner!” “Yes--to-night,” said I. “I had forgotten to-morrow’s horrors.” “If I were free!” “That’s easy.” “Yes--I _will_ be free!” “I’ll send you a lawyer at eleven to-morrow morning.” She was pale and trembling. The quarrel was a mere pretense--a pretext so flimsy that each knew the other was not deceived by it. Her tones of anger, my tones of abrupt and contemptuous indifference were obviously false and forced. As I left the room I cast a furtive glance at her, saw that her daring was so terrifying her that she could hardly keep a plausible front of haughty anger. It was several hours before I could get away from the house, though I made all haste. Every moment I expected some word from her. But none came. I sent the lawyer the following morning. I was surprised when later in the day, by the necessary roundabout way, I learned that she had actually consented. She showed that she had made an exhaustive study of the subject, like the wise campaigner she was. She thoroughly understood how to proceed; for, she told her lawyer--the one of my lawyers whom I assigned to her--that my coldness to her had filled her with suspicion and that she wished detectives employed. She needed no coaching whatever; he found her prepared on every point. How far had matters gone between her and Frascatoni? Not so far as you imagine; but perhaps farther than I think. Both the husband and the world are poor judges in those affairs. * * * * * I shall pass over the suit. It was commonplace throughout. There has been much speculation as to the person named by my wife in the sealed papers. I can truthfully say that I know as little about that person as does the public. It is usually so, I believe, in these arranged suits. I did not appear at any of the hearings, all of them held secretly. Nor did Edna appear, though I believe that, to comply with the forms of law, she made some sort of deposition in the presence of the lawyers for both sides. It so happened that the first and only public step--the judge’s ordering of the decree of divorce--was published on the same day with the news of a big prize fight, a sensational murder, and a terrific earthquake. So, we got off with little public attention. At the time the law provided that a decree should not become valid for six months. We were nominally free; but actually neither could marry again for six months and meanwhile either of us could reopen the case--and she could by merely requesting put an end to it and restore her status as my wife. So, I was free--unless Edna should change her mind sometime within the six months. Edna was in London and I in Paris when the news came. Curiously enough, as I stood in the doorway of the Ritz restaurant, that evening, looking about for a table where I could dine alone, in came Prince Frascatoni with another Italian whose name I cannot recall. I bowed to Frascatoni. He said: “You are alone, sir?”