As she was looking inquiringly at me, I said, “No.” “It was very strange. For the first few weeks after the divorce--no, not the divorce--but the decree--for it isn’t a divorce yet, thank God!--for the first weeks I was happy--or thought I was. I went early and late. I had never been so gay. I acted like a girl just launched in society. I was in ecstasies over my freedom. Do you mind, dear? Does it hurt you for me to say these things?” “No--no,” said I. “Go on.” “How queer you are! But I suppose you are dazed, poor dear. Never mind! When I am better--stronger, I’ll soon convince you.” And she nodded and smiled at me. “Poor dear! How cruel I have been!” “Yes--we’ll wait till you are stronger,” stammered I, making a move to rise. “But I must tell you how it came about,” she said, detaining me. “All of a sudden--when I was at my gayest--I began to feel strange and sad--to dislike everyone and everything about me.” “It was the illness working in you,” said I. She gave the smile of gentle tolerance with which she received my attempts at humor when she was in an amiable mood. “How like you that is! But it wasn’t the illness at all. It was my inmost heart striving to force open its door and reveal its secret. Do be a little romantic, this once, dear.” “Well--and then?” “Then--a paragraph in one of the society papers. Some one sent it to me anonymously. Was it you, dear?--and did you do it to make me jealous?” She spoke as one who suddenly sees straight into a secret. “I didn’t,” said I hastily. “It never entered my head to think you cared a rap about me.” “Now, don’t tease me, Godfrey, dear. You must have been making all sorts of plans to win me back.” “You read the item in the paper?” suggested I. “Oh, yes--I must finish. I read it. And at first I shrugged my shoulders and said to myself I didn’t in the least care. But I couldn’t get the thing out of mind. Godfrey, I had always been too sure of you. You never seemed to be a single tiny bit interested in other women. So the thought of you and another woman had not once come to me. That item put it there. You--_my_ husband--_my_ Godfrey and another woman! It was like touching a match to powder. I went mad. I----” She was sitting up, her eyes wild, her voice trembling. “You must not excite yourself, Edna,” I said. “I went mad,” she repeated, so interested in her emotions that she probably did not hear me. “I rushed down to Margot. I fell ill. I made her telegraph for you. Oh, how I suffered until I knew you were here. If you hadn’t come right away I’d have cabled to my lawyer in New York to have the divorce set aside--or whatever they do. I can have it set aside any time up to the end of the six months, can’t I?” “Yes,” admitted I, though her tone of positive knowledge made my reply superfluous.