This sounded well; yet still Edith was not satisfied. It seemed to her too much like an empty promise which he had no idea of fulfilling. “How will you defend me?” she asked. “This man lives here now. He asserts that he has the right to do so. He has published what he calls my marriage to him in the newspapers. He calls himself my husband. All this is a wrong and an insult to me. His presence here is a perpetual menace. When he is absent he leaves a reminder of himself,” she continued, in a more bitter tone, glancing toward the portrait. “Now I wish to know what you will do. Will you prevent him from coming here? Will you send him away, either in your name or in mine? You are easily able to keep out my friends; will you keep out my enemies?” “This man,” said Wiggins, “shall soon give you no more trouble.” “Soon--what do you mean by soon?” asked Edith, impatiently. “As soon as my plans will allow me to proceed to extremities with him.” “Your plans!” repeated Edith. “You are always bringing up your plans. Whatever is concerned, you plead your plans. They form a sufficient excuse for you to refuse the commonest justice. And yet what I ask is certainly for your own interests.” “If you knew me better,” said Wiggins, “you would not appeal to my interests. I have not generally fashioned my life with regard to my own advantage. Some day you will see this. You, at least, should be the last one to complain of my plans, since they refer exclusively to the vindication of your injured father.” “So you have said before,” said Edith, coldly. “Those plans must be very convenient, since you use them to excuse every possible act of yours.” “You will not have to wait long now,” said Wiggins, in a weary voice, as though this interview was too much for his endurance--“not very long. I have heard to-day of something which is very favorable. Since the trial certain documents and other articles have been kept by the authorities, and an application has been made for these, with a view to the establishment of your father's innocence. I have recently heard that the application is about to be granted.” “You always answer my appeals for common justice,” said Edith, with unchanged coldness, “by some reference to my father. It seems to me that if you had wished to vindicate his innocence, it would have been better to do so while he was alive. If you had done so, it might have been better for yourself in the end. But now these allusions are idle and worse than useless. They have no effect on me whatever. I value them at what they are worth.” With these words Edith rose and left the room. She returned to her own apartments with a feeling of profound dejection and disappointment. Of Wiggins she could make nothing. He promised, but his promises were too vague to afford satisfaction.