Lulu spoke her exceeding triumph.

“You see, Dwight,” she said, “he told the truth.  He had another wife.  He didn’t just leave me.”

Dwight instantly cried:  “But this seems to me to make you considerably worse off than if he had.”

“Oh, no,” Lulu said serenely.  “No.  Why,” she said, “you know how it all came about.  He—­he was used to thinking of his wife as dead.  If he hadn’t—­hadn’t liked me, he wouldn’t have told me.  You see that, don’t you?”

Dwight laughed.  “That your apology?” he asked.

She said nothing.

“Look here, Lulu,” he went on, “this is a bad business.  The less you say about it the better, for all our sakes—­you see that, don’t you?”

“See that?  Why, no.  I wanted you to write to him so I could tell the truth.  You said I mustn’t tell the truth till I had the proofs ...”

“Tell who?”

“Tell everybody.  I want them to know.”

“Then you care nothing for our feelings in this matter?”

She looked at him now.  “Your feeling?”

“It’s nothing to you that we have a brother who’s a bigamist?”

“But it’s me—­it’s me.”

“You!  You’re completely out of it.  Just let it rest as it is and it’ll drop.”

“I want the people to know the truth,” Lulu said.

“But it’s nobody’s business but our business!  I take it you don’t intend to sue Ninian?”

“Sue him?  Oh no!”

“Then, for all our sakes, let’s drop the matter.”

Lulu had fallen in one of her old attitudes, tense, awkward, her hands awkwardly placed, her feet twisted.  She kept putting a lock back of her ear, she kept swallowing.

“Tell you, Lulu,” said Dwight.  “Here are three of us.  Our interests are the same in this thing—­only Ninian is our relative and he’s nothing to you now.  Is he?”

“Why, no,” said Lulu in surprise.

“Very well.  Let’s have a vote.  Your snap judgment is to tell this disgraceful fact broadcast.  Mine is, least said, soonest mended.  What do you say, Ina—­considering Di and all?”

“Oh, goodness,” said Ina, “if we get mixed up with bigamy, we’ll never get away from it.  Why, I wouldn’t have it told for worlds.”

Still in that twisted position, Lulu looked up at her.  Her straying hair, her parted lips, her lifted eyes were singularly pathetic.

“My poor, poor sister!” Ina said.  She struck together her little plump hands.  “Oh, Dwight—­when I think of it:  What have I done—­what have we done that I should have a good, kind, loving husband—­be so protected, so loved, when other women....  Darling!” she sobbed, and drew near to Lulu.  “You know how sorry I am—­we all are....”

Lulu stood up.  The white shawl slipped to the floor.  Her hands were stiffly joined.

“Then,” she said, “give me the only thing I’ve got—­that’s my pride.  My pride—­that he didn’t want to get rid of me.”