“Then, one day, Monkey-faced Ritchie called on that sweet, shy Mrs. Davidson. She had come out under his care, and he considered himself a privileged person—her oldest friend in the tropics. He posed for a great admirer of hers. He was always a great chatterer. He had got hold of the story rather vaguely, and he started chattering on that subject, thinking she knew all about it. And in due course he let out something about Laughing Anne. “‘Laughing Anne,’ says Mrs. Davidson with a start. ‘What’s that?’ “Ritchie plunged into circumlocution at once, but she very soon stopped him. ‘Is that creature dead?’ she asks. “‘I believe so,’ stammered Ritchie. ‘Your husband says so.’ “‘But you don’t know for certain?’ “‘No! How could I, Mrs. Davidson!’ “‘That’s all wanted to know,’ says she, and goes out of the room. “When Davidson came home she was ready to go for him, not with common voluble indignation, but as if trickling a stream of cold clear water down his back. She talked of his base intrigue with a vile woman, of being made a fool of, of the insult to her dignity. “Davidson begged her to listen to him and told her all the story, thinking that it would move a heart of stone. He tried to make her understand his remorse. She heard him to the end, said ‘Indeed!’ and turned her back on him. “‘Don’t you believe me?’ he asked, appalled. “She didn’t say yes or no. All she said was, ‘Send that brat away at once.’ “‘I can’t throw him out into the street,’ cried Davidson. ‘You don’t mean it.’ “‘I don’t care. There are charitable institutions for such children, I suppose.’ “‘That I will never do,’ said Davidson. “‘Very well. That’s enough for me.’ “Davidson’s home after this was like a silent, frozen hell for him. A stupid woman with a sense of grievance is worse than an unchained devil. He sent the boy to the White Fathers in Malacca. This was not a very expensive sort of education, but she could not forgive him for not casting the offensive child away utterly. She worked up her sense of her wifely wrongs and of her injured purity to such a pitch that one day, when poor Davidson was pleading with her to be reasonable and not to make an impossible existence for them both, she turned on him in a chill passion and told him that his very sight was odious to her.