She says I ought to be there to save the child from her, if I dont care to save her from herself; that I was the last restraint on her; and that if I dont come she will make an end of the business by changing her tipple to prussic acid.  The whole thing is a string of maudlin rot from beginning to end; and I believe she primed herself with about four bottles of champagne to write it.  Still, I dont want to leave her in the lurch.  You are a man who stand pretty closely on your honor.  Do you think I ought to go back?  I may tell you that as regards money she is under no compliment to me.  Her earnings were a good half of our income; and she saved nothing out of them.  In fact, I owe her some money for two or three old debts she paid for me.  We always shared like husband and wife.”

“I hardly understand your hesitation, Lind.  You can take the little girl out of her hands; allow her something; and be quit of her.”

“Thats very easy to say; but I cant drag her child away from her if she insists on keeping it.”

“Well, so much the better for you.  It would be a burden to you.  Pay her for its maintenance:  that is probably what she wants.”

“No, no,” said Marmaduke, impatiently.  “You dont understand.  Youre talking as if I were a rake living with a loose woman.”

Douglas looked at him doubtfully.  “I confess I do not understand,” he said.  “Perhaps you will be good enough to explain.”

“It’s very simple.  I went to live with her because I fell in love with her, and she wouldnt marry me.  She had a horror of marriage; and I was naturally not very eager for it myself.  Matters must be settled between us as if we were husband and wife.  Paying her off is all nonsense.  She doesnt want money; and I want the child; so she has the advantage of me.  Only for the drink I would go back to her to-morrow; but I cant stand her when she is not sober.  I bore with it long enough; and now all I want is to get Lucy out of her hands and be quit of her, as you say—­although it seems mean to leave her.”

“She must certainly be a very extraordinary woman if she refused to marry you.  Are you sure she is not married already?”

“Bosh!  Not she.  She likes to be independent; and she has a sort of self-respect—­not like Constance and the old Countess, who hunted me long enough in the hope of running me down at last in a church.”

“If you offered her marriage, that certainly frees you from the least obligation to stay with her.  She reserved liberty to leave you; and, of course, the same privilege was implied on your part.  If you have no sentimental wish to return to her, you are most decidedly not bound in honor to.”

“I’m fond enough of her when she is sober; but I loathe her when she is fuddled.  If she would only give up drinking, we might make a fresh start.  But she wont.”

“You must not think of doing that.  Get rid of her, my dear fellow.  This marriage of Marian’s has put the affair on a new footing altogether.  I tell you candidly, I think that under the circumstances your connexion with Conolly’s sister is a disgraceful one.”