“There’s no evidence whatever against her, outside your imagination, old man.”

“You’re in love with her yourself,” Bernard retorted brutally.  Val started, it was the second time in twelve hours.  “Oh! think I haven’t seen that?  There’s not much I don’t see, that goes on around me.  Cheer up, I’m not really jealous of you.  Laura never cared that for you.  She was my wife for ten days, after all:  it takes a man to master her.”

“What he wants is a medical man,” said Lawrence to Selincourt in a low voice.  He dared not look at Val.

“After tonight neither Selincourt nor you, Lawrence nor your lady friend will darken my doors again.  Try it on and I’ll have you warned off by the police.”

“Bernard, you over-rate the attractions of your society.”

“Pass to my second point.  I don’t propose to divorce Laura.”

“You couldn’t get a divorce, you ass:  you’ve no case.”

“But equally I don’t propose to take her back.  If she lives alone and conducts herself decently I’ll make her an allowance—­say four or five hundred a year.  If she lives with a lover or tries to force her way in here I won’t give her a stiver.  Now, Selincourt, you had better use your influence or you’ll have her planted on you directly Lawrence gets sick of her.  If she goes from me to Lawrence she can go from Lawrence on the streets for all I—­shut that door, Val!—­Keep her out!”

“Laura! go away!” cried Selincourt.  The scene was rising into a nightmare and his nerves shivered under it.  But he was too late.  The wide doorway had filled with people:  Laura with her satin hair, her flying veil, her ineffaceable French grace of air and dress:  Isabel bare-headed, very pale and reluctant:  and Mr. Stafford, who had come down to exercise a moderating influence in the direction of compromise.  Isabel edged round towards Lawrence, while Mr. Stafford stood glancing from one to another with keen authoritative eyes, waiting a chance to strike in.  But Laura after her long sleep had recovered her fighting temper and was no longer content to remain a cipher in her own house.  She smiled and shook her head at Lucian, reddening under her dark skin.

“Bernard, have they told you the truth yet?  No, I thought not, Lawrence was too shy.”  High spirited, for all her sensitiveness, she laid her slight hand on her husband’s wrist.  “Did you think if Lawrence stayed on at Wanhope it must be because he admired me?  You forget that there are younger and prettier women in Chilmark than I am.  Lawrence is going to marry Isabel.  It’s a romantic tale,” was there a touch of pique in Laura’s charming voice? “and I’m afraid they both of them took some pains to throw dust in our eyes.  I’ve only this moment learnt it from Isabel.”  Yes, undeniably a trace of pique.  Women like Laura, used to the admiration of men however innocent, cannot forego it without a sigh.  She did not grudge Isabel her