“Is that everything?” she asked Josephine, pointing to the boxes of jewelry on the table.

“Oui, Madame!  All except those in the safe deposit vault, Madame.”

“Oh, yes—­I’ll give you an order.  You will go for them,” said her mistress, going to a desk.

“Oui, Madame.”

Virginia was just writing the order on the Safe Deposit Company when there came a knock on the boudoir door.  The maid went to answer.

“Shall I open, Madame?”

“Yes.”

The girl opened the door and Fanny entered, fresh and buoyant after a good night’s sleep.

“Good morning!” exclaimed the newcomer cheerfully.

“Good morning, dear,” replied Virginia quietly as she finished the note and put it in an envelope.  Handing it to Josephine, she said quietly:  “Give that to John.”

“Oui, Madame.”

The girl took the note and left the room.  Fanny looked inquiringly at her sister.  There was something in her manner which she did not like.  At last she said hesitatingly: 

“I’m so sorry about last night, dear.”

“Don’t, please!” said Virginia, quickly raising her hand.

“Have you seen him this morning?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t know how he is?”

“Oh, yes, I do.”

“How do you know?”

“Previous experience,” said Virginia bitterly.

Fanny took both her sister’s hands in hers and gently drew her to her breast as a mother, full of gentle pity, would caress and console an unhappy child.  For a moment Virginia tried to keep back the flood of tears that were choking her utterance, but the effort was too great and suddenly, with a stifled moan of distress, she broke into a torrent of passionate weeping.

Her sister made no attempt to quiet her.  She felt it would be useless.  All she did was to stroke her beautiful hair and murmur: 

“Don’t cry, dear, everything will be all right.”

[Illustration:  “I’M SO UNHAPPY, DEAR,” CRIED VIRGINIA.  PAGE 241]

In broken sentences, interrupted every now and then by renewed weeping, Virginia cried: 

“I’m so unhappy—­dear—­so unhappy—­you will never know.  This thing is not of yesterday—­I’ve endured it so long—­until I could stand it no longer.  He despises me—­he said he did.  He bought me—­and paid for me.  How can he have anything but contempt for me?”

“What did he do or say?” demanded Fanny, at a loss what to advise.  “What does he say this morning?  Have you spoken to him?”

Virginia, more calm, shook her head.

“No—­I’ve scarcely exchanged a word with him.  He can’t definitely recall what he said or did, but he is thoroughly repentant and ashamed.”

“That’s something anyway,” said Fanny encouragingly.

Virginia shook her head.  Doubtfully she asked: 

“Is it—­when it gives no guarantee for the future?”

Fanny was silent.  There are some crises in a woman’s life when even a sister cannot advise, when a woman must decide for herself.  Slowly she said:  “But after all’s said and done, dear—­he is your husband and that makes everything right, doesn’t it?”