“Go on.”

“It isn’t generally known,” went on the lawyer, “that the hotel keeper’s wife has left him.  She went away a short time ago, and came to me and told me her story.  It was one of what at first might be called refined cruelty on her husband’s part, degenerating gradually into that of the baser sort.”

“You don’t mean that Larch struck her—­that there was physical abuse, do you?” asked the colonel.

“That’s what he did.  He seems to have been decent for a while after their marriage—­which marriage was a mistake from the first—­I can see that now.  I used to know Cynthia when she was a girl—­she was the daughter of Lodan Ratchford, and her mother had peculiar and, to my mind, wrong ideas of social position and money.  Well, poor Cynthia is paying the penalty now.  She was really forced into this marriage which, to say the least, must have been distasteful to her.  But I don’t suppose more than two or three know that.”

The colonel did not disclose the fact that it was no news to him.  Aaron Grafton’s statement was being unexpectedly confirmed.  He remembered that Cynthia and Grafton had once been in love with each other.

“Well, when Cynthia came to me, in my capacity as lawyer as well as old friend, I could hardly believe what she told me about her husband,” went on Kenneth.  “She said he had struck her more than once, and she could stand it no longer.

“She wanted to apply for a divorce, but when I showed her that this would bring about much publicity, and necessitate taking testimony on both sides with possibly a long-dragged out case, she agreed merely to ask for a separation now, on the accusation of cruel and inhuman treatment.  On those grounds I went before the vice chancellor, prepared to prove my case by competent witnesses.  But they were not needed.”

“Why not?”

“Because Larch made no defense.  He let the case go by default, for which I was glad, as it saved Cynthia from telling her story in open court.  Larch, by refusing to appear, practically admitted the charges against him and did not oppose the separation.

“Then came the matter of alimony, or, rather, I should call it separate maintenance, as it is not alimony until a divorce is granted, and that has not yet been done, though we may apply for that later.

“I was prepared to ask the vice chancellor for a pretty stiff annual sum for my client, for I know Larch is rich, when, to my surprise, she would not permit it.  She said if she left him it was for good and all, and that she wanted none of his bounty.  She had some means of her own, she declared, and would work rather than accept a cent from him.

“So I had to let her have her way, and we did not ask the court for money, though I had no such squeamish feelings when it came to my counsel fee.  I got that out of Larch rather than his wife.”

“Did he pay it?”