“If that is true,” returned Gabriella sternly, for she was not disposed to soften to Charley, and in her heart she deeply resented what she called Jane’s “weakness,” “if that is true why do you behave so outrageously to Jane and the children?  Why can’t you be decent?”

“I could,” answered Charley, with engaging lucidity, “if she were less so.  It’s her infernal virtue I can’t stand, Gabriella.  No man could stand it without taking to drink.”

“But you knew she was that way.  She was always trying to make people better.  It is her mission.  Why, I remember one winter night before you were married mother got me out of bed in the cold to come and hear Jane forgive you beautifully about something.”

“That was the first time, and it was very touching.  I suppose the first time always is touching.  Of course, I didn’t know she meant to keep it up.  No man could possibly have kept it up,” said Charley, with bitterness, “but she married me to reform me, and it is the only thing she has really enjoyed about her marriage.  She’s a born reformer.  I haven’t eaten a thing I cared about, nor drank a drop I wanted, nor used a bad word I was fond of, since I married, without being nagged at about it.  She loved me for my vices, and yet she hasn’t let me keep a single one—­not even the smallest—­not even cigarettes.  Nag!  Good God!  She’s nagged me to perfection ever since the day of our wedding when she made me sign the pledge before she let me kiss her!”

“Well, that doesn’t make it any easier for us or for the children,” replied Gabriella, without sympathy; “and if you don’t think of Jane, you might at least think of your children.”

“Of course it’s hard on the kids,” admitted Charley ruefully.  “But as for Jane—­now, will you tell me what would become of Jane after she had reformed me?  Why, she’d be bored to death.  She’d be a martyr without any martyrdom.  When she made me give up tobacco, she lost interest in everything for a week.  She was like your Uncle Meriweather after the surrender.  There wasn’t anything left to fight about, and fighting was all he could do—­”

“I believe—­I really believe you have been drinking,” interrupted Gabriella with cold disgust.  “Suppose Jane were to die?”

“She won’t die.  She’ll be all right as soon as she has forgiven me.”

He was not only bad, she told herself, he was perfectly shameless.  He appeared to have been born without the faintest sense of responsibility.  And yet, while Gabriella listened to him, she realized that, in some ways, he might be a less trying companion than poor Jane.  His candour was as simple, as unaffected, as the serene artlessness of a child.  It was impossible not to believe in his sincerity.  Though she “despised him,” as she told herself, still she was obliged to admit that there was something to be said on his side.  The harsh judgment of youth—­of youth that never tries to understand, that never makes allowances—­softened under the influence of Charley’s reprehensible charm.  Even badness, Gabriella conceded grudgingly, might be easier to live with in some circumstances than a too exalted self-righteousness.