It was useless to talk to them, for May was not in a state to distinguish between flattery and abuse, while she was in a mood to say things no man would desire a third person to hear. Accordingly, he postponed his observations until next morning, and when that came it appeared she had the more to say. With bitter emphasis she stated that, as a husband, Eliphalet fell far short of her ideals. Apart from the miserable salary he earned, which, in itself, was an insult to a woman who was earning a larger one (for Blanche was playing the villainess and he the juvenile, and in those days virtue was cheaper than crime), she abhorred his studious nature, his ridiculous name, and his attitude towards life in general. She was of a lively temperament—a temperament calling for plenty of sparkle and sunshine (he had thought of those empty bottles downstairs), and accordingly had decided to leave him for good. Eliphalet offered little or no opposition. He had known for a long while that sooner or later their ill-assorted union would come to an end. “Very well,” he had said; “I won’t stand in the way of your happiness. You shall have a divorce as soon as it can be arranged.” Instead of regarding this as a token of goodwill, Blanche had reviled him. It was obvious, she cried, he had no love for her, and merely made her his wife for the sake of the better salary she earned; and—now he seized the chance of a divorce in the hope of wringing heavy damages from Harrington. “I want no damages,” he replied. “Maybe I shall find my reward without.” Eliphalet did not have a speaking part in the scene that followed. His first line was “Thank God,” and that was after the door had slammed. So Harrington May assumed responsibilities for Eliphalet Cardomay’s matrimonial obligations, and when the decree _nisi_ was made absolute, he took “Miss Blanche Cannon” to be his lawful wedded wife. How the union had turned out Eliphalet never knew, since from the hour she left his house he had met neither the one nor the other. Indirectly he heard that as fruit of their love a daughter had been born—and that was the only thing for which he envied Harrington May. He might have saved himself the trouble, for poor Harrington, possibly from ecstasy at the sight of this miniature edition of her faultless mother, shortly afterwards gave up the ghost. Blanche, whose appreciation for a change of diet had not waned with his decease, took unto herself a lover, and fades from view in a mist of misguided emotions. “Dear me! Surely I am not mistaken—it is Mr. Cardomay?” At the sound of his own name Eliphalet’s mind came back to the present with a jolt. Standing before him, leaning on an ebony cane, stood a middle-aged gentleman, faultlessly dressed and of aristocratic bearing. Eliphalet rose. “I am,” he said, “but for the moment——”