He opened it hastily.

                              “TheNelson club,
                                   “Trafalgar square. 
“My dear vigil,

“I’ve just come from seeing your ward.  An embarrassing complexion is lent to affairs by what took place last night.  It appears that after your visit to him yesterday afternoon her husband came up to town, and made his appearance at her flat about eleven o’clock.  He was in a condition bordering on delirium tremens, and Mrs. Bellew was obliged to keep him for the night.  ‘I could not,’ she said to me, ’have refused a dog in such a state.’  The visit lasted until this afternoon—­in fact, the man had only just gone when I arrived.  It is a piece of irony, of which I must explain to you the importance.  I think I told you that the law of divorce is based on certain principles.  One of these excludes any forgiveness of offences by the party moving for a divorce.  In technical language, any such forgiveness or overlooking is called condonation, and it is a complete bar to further action for the time being.  The Court is very jealous of this principle of non-forgiveness, and will regard with grave suspicion any conduct on the part of the offended party which might be construed as amounting to condonation.  I fear that what your ward tells me will make it altogether inadvisable to apply for a divorce on any evidence that may lie in the past.  It is too dangerous.  In other words, the Court would almost certainly consider that she has condoned offences so far.  Any further offence, however, will in technical language ‘revive’ the past, and under these circumstances, though nothing can be done at present, there may be hope in the future.  After seeing your ward, I quite appreciate your anxiety in the matter, though I am by no means sure that you are right in advising this divorce.  If you remain in the same mind, however, I will give the matter my best personal attention, and my counsel to you is not to worry.  This is no matter for a layman, especially not for one who, like you, judges of things rather as they ought to be than as they are.

                         “I am, my dear Vigil,
                              “Very sincerely yours,
                                   “Edmund Paramor. 
“Gregory vigil, Esq.

“If you want to see me, I shall be at my club all the evening.-E.  P.”

When Gregory had read this note he walked to the window, and stood looking out over the lights on the river.  His heart beat furiously, his temples were crimson.  He went downstairs, and took a cab to the Nelson Club.

Mr. Paramor, who was about to dine, invited his visitor to join him.

Gregory shook his head.

“No, thanks,” he said; “I don’t feel like dining.  What is this, Paramor?  Surely there’s some mistake?  Do you mean to tell me that because she acted like a Christian to that man she is to be punished for it in this way?”