“What did you think of the sermon this morning?”

“The sermon on the prodigal?  Well, it is too late for such sermons to be levelled at me; and I never listen to those aimed at other people.”

“At what other people do you suppose this one could have been directed?” She asked the question most carelessly, lifting her imponderable handkerchief and letting it drop into her lap as a sign of how little her interest weighed.

“It is not my duty to judge.”

“We cannot help our thoughts, you know.”

“I think we can, madam; and I also think we can hold our tongues,” and he laughed at her very good-naturedly.  “Sometimes we can even help to hold other people’s—­if they are long.”

“Oh, what a rude speech to a lady!” she exclaimed gallantly.  “Did you see the Osborns at church?  And did you notice him?  What an unhappy marriage!  He is breaking Kate’s heart.  And to think that his character—­or the lack of it—­should have been discovered only when it was too late!  How can you men so cloak yourselves before marriage?  Why not tell women the truth then instead of leaving them to find it out afterward?  Are he and Rowan as good friends as ever?” The question was asked with the air of guilelessness.

“I know nothing about that,” he replied dryly.  “I never knew Rowan to drop his friends because they had failings:  it would break up all friendships, I imagine.”

“Well, I cannot help my thoughts, and I think George Osborn was the prodigal aimed at in the sermon.  Everybody thought so.”

“How does she know what everybody thought?” commented the Judge to himself.  He tapped the porch nervously with his cane, sniffed his heliotrope and said irrelevantly: 

“Ah me, what a beautiful night!  What a beautiful night!”

The implied rebuff provoked her.  Irritation winged a venomous little shaft: 

“At least no woman has ever held you responsible for her unhappiness.”

“You are quite right, madam,” he replied, “the only irreproachable husband in this world is the man who has no wife.”

“By the way,” she continued, “in all these years you have not told me why you never married.  Come now, confess!”

How well she knew!  How often as she had driven through the streets and observed him sitting alone in the door of his office or walking aimlessly about, she had leaned back and laughed.

“Madam,” he replied, for he did not like the question, “neither have you ever told me why you married three times.  Come now, confess.”

It would soon be time for him to leave; and still she had not gained her point.

“Rowan was here this afternoon,” she remarked carelessly.  He was sitting so that the light fell sidewise on his face.  She noted how alert it became, but he said nothing.

“Isabel refused to see him.”

He wheeled round and faced her with pain and surprise.