“For most of the time since her return to Ivy Cliff the life of Miss Delancy has been given to Christian charities.  The death of her father was a heavy stroke.  It took the life out of her for a while.  Since her recovery from that shock she has been constantly active among us in good deeds.  Poor sick women know the touch of her gentle hand and the music of her voice.  She has brought sunlight into many wintry homes, and kindled again on hearths long desolate the fires of loving kindness.  There must have been some lack of true appreciation on the part of her husband, sir.  Bitter fountains do not send forth sweet waters like these.  Don’t you think so?”

“How should I know?” replied Emerson, a little coldly.  The question was sprung upon him so suddenly that his answer was given in confusion of thought.

“We all have our opinions, sir,” said the man, “and this seems a plain case.  I’ve heard said that her husband was a hot-headed, self-willed, ill-regulated young fellow, no more fit to get married than to be President.  That he didn’t understand the woman—­or, maybe, I should say child—­whom he took for his wife is very certain, or he never would have treated her in the way he did!”

“How did he treat her?” asked Mr. Emerson.

“As to that,” replied his talkative companion, “we don’t know anything certain.  But we shall not go far wrong in guessing that it was neither wise nor considerate.  In fact, he must have outraged her terribly.”

“This, I presume, is the common impression about Ivy Cliff?”

“No,” said the man; “I’ve heard him well spoken of.  The fact is, people are puzzled about the matter.  We can’t just understand it.  But, I’m all on her side.”

“I wonder she has not married again?” said Emerson.  “There are plenty of men who would be glad to wed so perfect a being as you represent her to be.”

“She marry!” There was indignation and surprise in the man’s voice.

“Yes; why not?”

“Sir, she is a Christian woman!”

“I can believe that, after hearing your testimony in regard to her,” said Emerson.  But he still kept his face so much turned aside that its expression could not be seen.

“And reads her Bible.”

“As we all should.”

“And, what is more, believes in it,” said the man emphatically.

“Don’t all Christian people believe in the Bible?” asked Mr. Emerson.

“I suppose so, after a fashion; and a very queer fashion it is, sometimes.”

“How does this lady of whom you speak believe in it differently from some others?”

“In this, that it means what it says on the subject of divorce.”

“Oh, I understand.  You think that if she were to marry again it would be in the face of conscientious scruples?”

“I do.”

Mr. Emerson was about asking another question when one of the party to which he belonged joined him, and so the strange interview closed.  He bowed to the man with whom he had been conversing, and then passed to another part of the boat.