“At all events she knew what she was about,” says Tessie, flinging down her handkerchief and speaking with a touch of viciousness.  “She knew perfectly how she stood with her wretched uncle before she married you.  No doubt they arranged it between them.  She was fully aware of the state of her finances, and so was the uncle.  So glad that miserable old person is out of the way for ever, of making young men of family marry young women of no family, who have not even money to recommend them.  I must say your—­I shudder to utter the word, Maurice—­your wife—­is as thoroughly dishonest a person as——­” Tessie pauses, and casts a furtive glance at him.  “After all, there may be a hope for you, Maurice.  That cousin!  So prononcée the whole thing—­so unmistakable.  And once a divorce was established——­”

She never knew afterwards what really happened.  Perhaps, after all, nothing happened—­nothing material; but what she does know if that Maurice is standing before her, looking like a demon.

“D——­n it!” says he.  His temper is very bad sometimes.  “Can’t you see that I won’t have a word said against her?”

CHAPTER XVII.

HOW MATTERS COME TO A CLIMAX; AND HOW TITA TELLS MAURICE MANY THINGS THAT STING HIM SHARPLY; AND HOW HE LAYS HANDS UPON HER; AND HOW THE LAST ADIEUX ARE SAID.

“So you have made up your mind,” says Maurice, looking at his wife with a glance as full of coldness as it is of rage.  “You see your way?  It is for ever, remember.  You decide on leaving me?”

“Why should I stay?” says Tita.

There is evidently no idea of “staying” about her; she is dressed for a journey, with care—­great care—­but with all the air of one who is going away for a long, long time.  She is exquisitely dressed; the soft gray costume, trimmed with costly furs, sets off her bijou figure to perfection, and her soft, dainty curls show coquettishly from beneath her fur cap.  Her eyes are shining like stars; her lips have taken a slightly malicious curve; her rounded chin, soft and white as a baby’s, is delicately tilted.  She is looking lovely.  “Why should I stay?” Her question seems to beat upon his brain.  He could have answered it, perhaps, had pride permitted him, but pride is a great tyrant, and rules with an iron rod.  And, besides, even if he had answered, she has a tyrant, too—­her own pride.  As a fact we all have these tyrants, and it is surprising how we hug them to our breasts.

“Why should I stay?” says Tita.  “All you wanted from me is gone; now I go too.  You should rejoice.  If you have lost in one way you have gained in another.  You will never see me or my money again!”

The bitterness in the young voice, the hatred in the young eyes, is terrible.

For a full minute Rylton remains silent.  The mind is a strange thing, not to be controlled, full of vagaries, and now, for no reason whatever, as it seems to him, it has run back to his wedding morning.  Is this the careless, idle, little tomboy who had stood before the altar—­the little girl he had assured himself he could mould to his will?