“Well, you needn't be afraid. Look at Mrs. Tom Corey. And that was her own sister!” “That was different. Corey had never thought of her sister, much less made love to her, or promised to marry her. Besides, Mrs. Corey had her father and mother to advise her, and support her in behaving sensibly. And this poor creature had nothing but her own novel fed fancies, and her crazy conscience. She thought that because she inflicted suffering upon herself she was acting unselfishly. Really the fakirs of India and the Penitentes of New Mexico are more harmless; for they don't hurt any one else. If she has forced some poor fellow into a marriage like this of Barker's she's committed a deadly sin. She'd better driven him to suicide, than condemned him to live a lie to the end of his days. No doubt she regarded it as a momentary act of expiation. That's the way her romances taught her to look at loveless marriage--as something spectacular, transitory, instead of the enduring, degrading squalor that it is!” “What in the world are you talking about, David? I should think _you_ were a novelist yourself, by the wild way you go on! You have no proof whatever that Barker isn't happily engaged. I'm sure he's got a much better girl than he deserves, and one that's fully his equal. She's only too fond of that dry stick. Such a girl as the one you described,--like that mysterious visitor of yours,--what possible relation could she have with him? She was a lady!” “Yes, yes! Of course, it's absurd. But everybody seems to be tangled up with everybody else. My dear, will you give me a cup of tea? I think I'll go to writing at once.” Before she left her husband to order his tea Mrs. Sewell asked, “And do you think you have got through with him now?” “I have just begun with him,” replied Sewell.