SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM?
 
 Should She Have Left Him? 
 
 By BARCLAY NORTH, <wm. c. Hudson), 
 author of " The Diamond Button" " Whose 
 Was It" " Vivier of Vivier, Longman & 
 Co.," "On the Rack," "The Man With a 
 Thumb," "520 Per Cent.," "The Dugdale 
 Millions" etc. 
 
 ca 
 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS
 
 Copyright, 
 
 1894 by Cassell Pub. Co. 
 1900 by Street & Smith 
 
 Should She Have Left Him?
 
 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 BOOK I. REVELATION. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A SARATOGA EVENING. 
 
 THE number ended with a crash of horns and 
 kettledrums. Trescotte, under the pretense of loop 
 ing up a swaying branch of the creeping vine, threat 
 ening havoc to the coiffure of his bride of three 
 months, leaned over her and said in a low tone : 
 
 "I ll lure Davis away with the bait of a cigar; 
 then shake him and come to you for a stroll in the 
 park before retiring." 
 
 Mrs. Trescotte, young and beautiful, with shining 
 eyes lifted a beaming acquiescence. 
 
 For a fleeting moment Trescotte was tempted to 
 defy the conventionalities and embrace his wife 
 before the multitude. For a fleeting moment, too, 
 Tracey Harte, leaning against a pillar in an adorable 
 attitude, contemplated existence with such a woman 
 apart from club, stable, and the English valet he had 
 just achieved. 
 
 As Trescotte, folio wed by Davis, carefully threaded
 
 * SHOULD SHE HA VE LEFT HlAft 
 
 his way among the women crowding the veranda, 
 Mrs. Trescotte moved her chair so that she looked 
 out upon the park within the three sides of the 
 great building, to the disappointment of Tracey 
 Harte, who had seen, in the absence of her husband, 
 opportunity to put his own fascinations on dress 
 parade. 
 
 Mrs. Trescotte was very happy. Life with Tres 
 cotte was all she had imagined it to be in the days 
 of dreams and promise. 
 
 The orchestra began another number. This time 
 a selection in accord with her mood tenderly 
 melodious, with a deep plaintive undertone of rest 
 and peace. She surrendered herself to its enjoy 
 ment and gazed out upon the green lawn with its 
 black shadows and the broad graveled paths, where 
 the electric lights photographed in fantastic net 
 work the limbs and foliage of the trees through 
 which they shone, dimly conscious that immediately 
 beneath her were seated two men who smoked fra 
 grant cigars and murmured a conversation the music 
 did not interrupt. 
 
 She was very happy. At another time she would 
 have resented this desecration of music, but now 
 everything seemed to fit into her mood the music, 
 the lights, the soft languorous air, the swaying 
 branches, their responsive shadows on the broad 
 graveled paths, the murmuring voices beneath, even 
 the fragrant smoke of the cigars all seemed to be 
 of the atmosphere of love. 
 
 Of course, I know this was very absurd in a young
 
 A SARATOGA EVENING. 3 
 
 woman of fashion of the highest social rank, and 
 who had been married all of three months at vul 
 gar Saratoga, too but then, who of us have not 
 had our aberrations. 
 
 The music died away so softly indeed that Mrs. 
 Trescotte was only made conscious of the end of the 
 programme by the movement of the people on the 
 veranda. In a moment more it was comparatively 
 deserted. The musicians gathered up their instru 
 ments and flitted away. The uniformed hall boys 
 moved back the music stands, and arranged the 
 chairs into their customary platoons. Mrs. Tres 
 cotte, now a conspicuous figure in her solitariness, 
 continued to look out upon the park with its 
 delicate tracery of shadows upon lawn and broad 
 graveled paths. The voices of the two men 
 beneath came up distinct and audible. 
 
 " A most extraordinary tale such complications/ 
 said one voice. 
 
 " Isn t it ? " asked the other. " No one will accuse 
 me of inventing it, for it is beyond my powers.* 
 
 " Simply extraordinary. Bronson Howard ought 
 to get hold of it for his next comedy, by Jove ! " 
 
 " Its tragedy, my boy." 
 
 " For the woman, yes. But think of the man s 
 position. Married innocently to two women and 
 not knowing which is his wife. She s my wife ; no, 
 she isn t ; yes, she is. Tragedy it maybe, but broad 
 comedy as well." 
 
 " I can see nothing but the tragedy, the pathos, 
 the wreck of lives."
 
 O SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 the broad, graveled paths whe"" the delicate, fan 
 tastic shadow tracery was. 
 
 Surely this young woman had gotten into the 
 wrong century. She, of aristocratic training, from 
 that world where marriages are made from consid 
 erations of 
 
 " Well, I shan t tell them to-night, anyhow. 
 Come, let us get a cooling drink, and then I m off 
 to bed. I haven t been out of a car berth for twelve 
 nights." 
 
 Two men came out of a by-path and went off in 
 the direction of the shining lights. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Trescotte went up into the shadows.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 DOROTHY S IDYL. 
 
 MRS. TRESCOTTE was very happy. She had mar 
 ried the man of her choice. 
 
 The opposition to Trescotte, because he lacked 
 the wealth Mrs. Courtenay deemed necessary to the 
 place her daughter should occupy in the exclusive 
 world in which they moved, had been dispelled, 
 happily, a few months before the wedding. 
 
 Trescotte had grown to manhood, and lived the 
 life thereafter of one having the assurance of a large 
 inheritance, trained to no pursuit or profession, 
 When, however, the elder Trescotte died it was dis 
 covered that he had devoted the last decade of his 
 life to turning valuable New York real estate into 
 questionable securities, with the result of nearly dis 
 sipating a fine property. At the end of some 
 months of vexatious and confusing labor the young 
 man found himself in possession of a property of 
 only eight thousand a year an amount which Mrs. 
 Courtenay said some time later, when his income 
 became a matter of concern to her, any clerk could 
 earn in a twelve-month, and which was but half the 
 amount young Waldemar, son of the great German 
 banker, spent each year on his horses alone.
 
 5 SHOULD SHE HAl E LEFT HIMt 
 
 Waldemar had been selected as a son-in-law by 
 Mrs. Courtenay because of his wealth and aristo 
 cratic connections abroad. 
 
 Trescotte s income was small compared with that 
 which the world expected him to possess. When its 
 figures were known he was immediately reduced 
 from that enviable position a marriageable quan 
 tity. It certainly was reprehensible in Trescotte, 
 having ceased to be a desirable parti, to continue to 
 frequent the halls of society to bring that charm 
 ing personality, that winning face, that graceful 
 tongue, both wise and witty, to functions where 
 young and sometimes incautious girls came to find 
 husbands. Moreover, it was embarrassing to the 
 matron mothers. To drop him rudely from their 
 invitation lists was impossible, for many of them 
 dated their social success from the day when 
 their own names were entered upon that list of his 
 mother s. Besides, he was widely and closely con 
 nected with the most exclusive of the nice people. 
 Having committed the unforgivable crime of disap 
 pointing the world in his financial realizations, he 
 should have had the grace to withdraw himself, with 
 his charming personality, his polished manners, and 
 his diminished income. But he didn t, He went 
 about just as he had done when all the world sup 
 posed he would have the income of a millionaire. It 
 was stupid of him, I confess, but really he was 
 unconscious of the crime he had committed. 
 
 Mrs. Trevor-Allen, that incomprehensible young 
 wife of a very old man, won doubting applause
 
 DOROTHY S IDYL. 9 
 
 from the matrons, by the remark that Trescotte 
 was without redeeming vices, and would not be so 
 dangerous if he would but devote himself to the 
 young married women instead of the young girls. 
 
 Trescotte was yet a subject of discussion when 
 he relieved the anxiety of all the matron mothers, 
 save one, by devoting himself ardently to Dorothy 
 Courtenay. Mrs. Courtenay s anguish was not 
 allayed by the further discovery that these atten 
 tions were not disagreeable to her daughter. 
 
 Dorothy had always given her mother a great 
 deal of trouble. Thinking for herself, her conclu 
 sions were alarming, because in Mrs. Courtenay s 
 opinion they were radical, not to say anarchical. 
 She had been heard to express the belief that all of 
 life s happiness was not to be found in the exclusive 
 world in which her mother lived, and for which she 
 had been trained. On another occasion she had 
 ruined her father s breakfast by the remark that 
 wealth was not essential to a useful life. But 
 when she gave expression to the heresy that she 
 would prefer as a husband a man whom she could 
 respect for his ability, attainments, and correct life 
 even if of moderate means to the average man of 
 her acquaintance, however rich, it was voted in the 
 family that Dorothy was cursed with opinions, 
 fairly incendiary, and Mrs. Courtenay at once took 
 her in hand. 
 
 " You spring from two of the great families of 
 this country," she said, " and your life must be con- 
 trolled and directed by that fact. God has placed
 
 10 SHOULD SHE HATE LEFT HIM? 
 
 you in this station of life, the highest in the land, 
 and you have duties and obligations in consequence 
 It is only within the present generation that v, ; 
 have received that recognition from abroad \vhicii 
 is our due. Now,- we are received by the nobility 
 of other countries upon equal ground. This recogni 
 tion has only been obtained by great caution, inter 
 marriage, and the observance of well fixed rules 
 principally the latter. Entrance to our circle has 
 been made difficult, and only after the right to enter 
 has been fully established. The most frequent 
 effort has been made through marriage, so the 
 rule was made that the members of the older 
 families should marry among themselves; this has 
 kept the blood pure. Then it has been made a rule 
 that wealth should marry wealth. In England they 
 not only have the advantage of us in titles which 
 distinctly place the rank, but they have also the 
 law of primogenitureship by which fortunes are 
 kept intact. Here the whole tendency is to division 
 of wealth. And so, in order to keep fortunes 
 together, we have been compelled to concentration 
 by marriage. An aristocracy is necessary to the 
 making of good society; and an aristocracy cannot 
 be maintained without wealth. We, of the aristoc 
 racy, must do our duty to the station of life in 
 which we find ourselves, for in society properly con 
 stituted there must always be a standard of morals, 
 culture, and refinement, and that standard can only 
 be maintained by the best people. And. therefore, 
 the best people must seek only those matrimonial
 
 DOROTHY S IDYL. II 
 
 alliances which make for the common good of our 
 
 caste among themselves, where wealth is." 
 
 " And yet," replied Dorothy, and I regret to say, 
 disputatiously, " Mr. Waldemar is welcomed to 
 matrimonial alliances, though he is far enough 
 removed from our American families." 
 
 " You forget," returned her mother in her most 
 stately manner, "that Mr. Waldemar is allied to 
 the nobility of his native country ; that on taking 
 residence here he enters our circle by right of birth 
 thus drawing the bonds between the best people of 
 two countries closer together, while he contributes 
 large wealth to the common stock." 
 
 " Mr. Trescotte," suggested the daughter, " is a 
 descendant of one of the oldest of the American 
 families." 
 
 " Mr. Trescotte," promptly returned the mother 
 with much severity, " has forfeited his rights by 
 permitting the means by which he could maintain 
 the traditions of his family and his place in our 
 order to be wasted." 
 
 " Why, mamma," exclaimed the girl with that 
 ridicuious adherence to exact truth which always so 
 disconcerted Mrs. Courtenay, " it was his father who 
 ruined the property." 
 
 " His misfortune then ; and misfortunes of the 
 kind are little less than crimes." And then the 
 good lady, losing her temper, lost her case by add- 
 ing: "It is not becoming in you to dispute me. 
 You must give heed to my words and obey me. 
 Mr. Waldemar is disposed to be attentive to you,
 
 I* SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 and I demand that proper respect be shown 
 him." 
 
 " Mr. Waldemar should first respect himself," 
 replied Dorothy rebelliously. " His life does not 
 commend him to a young woman as a good hus 
 band." 
 
 " Now for Heaven s sake," cried Mrs. Courtenay, 
 actually growing vulgar, as she grew angrier, " have 
 you been bitten by the new craze ? " 
 
 " What craze, mamma ? " 
 
 " That idea ill-bred people are so indecently urg 
 ing, that woman should demand the same purity in 
 man, man demands in woman." 
 
 " Is there such a craze ? I did not know it ; but it 
 seems to me to be very proper." 
 
 " I have no patience with you, Dorothy. You are 
 wholly unlike your sisters. Where you, who have 
 been brought up so conservatively, can have picked 
 up your radical notions, I cannot comprehend. But 
 listen to me. You must cease your encouragement 
 of Mr. Trescotte. If you do not, I shall be com 
 pelled to deny him the house." 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay ended the discussion by leaving 
 the room, having made, true to her sex, the point, 
 which was her sole object in the conversation, in 
 her last remark. 
 
 In truth, Mrs. Courtenay fled from the discussion. 
 She stood in awe of her daughter, deny it to herself 
 as she might. Dorothy possessed the vexatious 
 faculty of making her mother appear as if she were 
 uttering false morals in these discussions, by the
 
 DOROTHY S IDYL. 1$ 
 
 simple process of presenting ideas, very well when 
 applied to grocers and other laboring people, but 
 absurd applied to people of rank and wealth, with 
 their complex obligations. 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay s lecture did not make the in 
 tended impression on Dorothy. In fact Dorothy 
 dismissed it as nonsensical. She resented, of course, 
 the charge that she was encouraging Mr. Trescotte 
 in his attentions ; she knew it to be false. A rapid 
 review assured her that there had been noth 
 ing loverlike in Trescotte s attentions, or in her 
 reception of them. She had been pleased with him 
 from their first meeting. Intuitively appreciating 
 his worth early in their acquaintance, she had come 
 to learn that he was a man who, for his amuse 
 ments, sought art rather than horses, and literature 
 rather than gossip ; and, for occupation, scientific 
 experiment rather than the stock ticker. Who, for 
 companions, preferred men who could bring to their 
 intercourse something more than the last quotation 
 from the Board and the weights for the next handi- 
 cap, even if all of them did not frequent the houses 
 of Mrs. Courtenay s world. Such was the singular 
 perversity of Dorothy s nature, that this appreci 
 ation of the man had operated to a prejudice in his 
 favor. 
 
 The real effect of her mother s ill-tempered words 
 was to open her eyes to possibilities which until 
 then had not occurred to her, but which, being 
 revealed, were the reverse of unpleasant. She sat a 
 long time pondering on this revelation so long,
 
 24 SHOULD SHE HA VE LEFT HIM? 
 
 indeed, that when she emerged from her abstract 
 tion, her head ached, but, she had reached a conclu 
 sion as to what she should do in the event of a 
 certain great big IF. 
 
 The next time Trescotte called, Dorothy told 
 him she would be his wife. But not, of course, 
 until after he had asked. 
 
 He lingered at the door a moment as he was 
 taking his leave, on this momentous occasion, and, 
 after a little hesitation, said : 
 
 " I shall go at once to your father. There is a 
 certain episode in my life of which I must speak 
 before I can take his consent. It is not a bar, only 
 an unpleasant remembrance. The knowledge shall 
 be yours, should I be fortunate enough to obtain 
 your father s approval." 
 
 A young man of prompt execution, he went 
 straightway to Mr. Countenay and placed that 
 gentleman in a very embarrassing position. 
 
 Mr. Courtenay knew that his wife destined 
 Dorothy for Waldemar. In such matters Mr. 
 Courtenay deferred to his wife as much the easier 
 way ; but there was another side to this situation. 
 He passed in the world for a man of strict probity 
 and upright dealing ; yet, in his heart of hearts, he 
 knew that he had largely contributed to the diminu 
 tion of the property of the elder Trescotte, by 
 inducing that old gentleman to exchange excellent 
 Broadway property for certain railroad bonds which 
 had rapidly lessened in value until they were worth 
 comparatively nothing, while the real estate, in the
 
 DOROTHY S IDYL. 15 
 
 same time, had more than doubled. At the time of 
 the exchange, and indeed for some time thereafter, 
 the bonds were quote d at a premium. This was a 
 fact not to be denied. No one, much less the elder 
 Trescotte, had ever charged Mr. Courtenay with 
 having unloaded unprofitable holdings upon a 
 friend. It was all ascribed to his good luck and to 
 Mr. Trescotte s bad luck that the smash should 
 have come when it did. But the fact was, that Mr. 
 Courtenay had possessed knowledge of certain 
 events about to occur, which in the nature of things 
 would practically wipe out the bonds, and he had 
 hastened to get rid of them before the knowledge 
 became general. So when this young Trescotte, 
 with his charming manners and correct habits, came 
 to ask for his daughter Dorothy, all the objection 
 he could raise was what Mrs. Courtenay had made 
 Trescotte s lack of wealth, and he, Courtenay, had 
 largely helped to that lack. 
 
 If Trescotte regarded Dorothy as a possession 
 beyond fine gold, as I must confess I believe he was 
 impracticable enough to do ; he would have blessed 
 that exchange which took so much wealth from 
 him, for having decided to give his daughter to 
 Trescotte, under an impulse of regret for having 
 treated the elder Trescotte so shabbily, Mr c Courte 
 nay put forth a restraining hand against Mrs. 
 Courtenay when she was disposed to makr it un 
 pleasant for the young people who had become 
 engaged at the very time she was laying deep plans, 
 to separate them.
 
 16 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 Mr. Courtenay made so light of the episode Tres- 
 cotte had spoken of that he did not even mention 
 it to his wife. Mrs. Courtenay, on her side, had her 
 compensation, by achieving that which is so dear to 
 woman heart a grievance, which was tenderly 
 nursed, not only by her, but by her dear friends, the 
 matron mothers, who could afford to expend large 
 sympathy, since their own ewe lambs were safe from 
 the fascinations of this very dangerous young 
 man. 
 
 The engagement took up its place in the 
 Courtenay household, where it was tolerated only 
 by all save Dorothy, who, having made it her reli 
 gion, worked herself into a sort of exaltation in the 
 contemplation that nothing sordid entered into her 
 romance. 
 
 A sensation of an extraordinary character, how 
 ever, marked the course of this romance. 
 
 Two railroad companies, one nearly moribund, a 
 goodly portion of the worthless stock and bonds of 
 which were held by Trescotte and retained because 
 he could not sell them, began a fight over a tract 
 of land which someone had discovered contained 
 lead, or iron, or coal, or something else equally 
 dear to the railroad heart, the title deeds of which, 
 curiously enough, were also held by Trescotte, as 
 evidences of his father s foolish financial schemes. 
 
 The young man was drawn into the very vortex 
 of the fight, from which, after a laborious and 
 bewildering period of two months, he emerged 
 shorn of his stocks and bonds a.nd title deeds, but
 
 DOROTHY S IDYL, IJ 
 
 with two millions or more to his credit in the bank, 
 awaiting investment. 
 
 Virtuous actions have their rewards. Mr. Courte- 
 nay was credited with being a very shrewd old 
 fellow who had seen the possibility from the first, 
 and Mrs. Courtenay found compensation in the 
 rapid change of her dear matron mother friends 
 from self satisfied sympathy to mortified envy. 
 
 There is a vast difference between an income of 
 eight thousand and eighty thousand a year, and 
 that is the reason why the prospective son-in-law, 
 who had leaped from one to the other, appreciated 
 a sudden change in the atmosphere in ana about 
 the Courtenay mansion it was more balmy and 
 genial. I am compelled to admit, however, that I 
 saw traces of a littleness of spirit upon the part of 
 Dorothy, in that she seemed to show regret over 
 this change in the fortunes of her lover. I am really 
 afraid that the notion crept into her silly, romantic 
 head, that a sweet something, akin to a sacrifice, 
 had been taken out of their idyl. 
 
 So, in due course of time, they were married, and 
 by the Bishop, too, for Mrs. Courtenay insisted on 
 that, and the world came to the wedding, bringing 
 those valuable presents it never would have 
 brought to the wedding of an eight thousand dollar 
 man. The bride and groom went on their travels, 
 and at the end of three months brought up at 
 Saratoga, where we found them in the first chapter.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 WIPED, NOT WEDDED. 
 
 MR. AND MRS. TRESCOTTE breakfasted late on 
 the morning following the evening Dorothy had 
 heard the fragment of the sad story she told her 
 husband. 
 
 They were hardly seated at the table when Mr. 
 Magrane, the lawyer who had piloted Trescotte 
 through the sea of legal complications and finally 
 landed him in the port of a millionaire, came to 
 them. 
 
 Mr. Magrane had never met Mrs. Trescotte, and 
 so was presented by her happy possessor. As he 
 told them he was just returned from the Pacific 
 Coast, whither he had been for six months straight 
 ening out the troubles of the ownership of a gold 
 mine, he regarded Mrs. Trescotte with so singular, 
 and indeed curious, an interest that Dorothy was 
 quite offended. And yet he made a marked effort 
 to be agreeable, so apparent that she, keenly obser 
 vant and somewhat suspicious, concluded that there 
 was ulterior purpose in the effort. Besides he 
 puzzled her, for though she had not even heard of 
 him before he presented himself, handsome, self. 
 poised, polished in manner, there was about him
 
 WIPED, NOT WEDDED. 19 
 
 something strangely familiar. She could not divest 
 herself of the fancy that this man, so agreeable and 
 debonair, boded her no good. It was all very 
 absurd and unjust, she knew. Her husband evi 
 dently respected and trusted the man. Their brief 
 conversation revealed to her that Mr. Magrane 
 was the lawyer whose ability and honorable dealing 
 in Trescotte s rise to wealth she had heard her 
 husband so highly praise, yet when, moving away, 
 the lawyer requested half an hour s conversation with 
 her husband on business after breakfast, her impulse 
 was to warn her husband. Against what ? That 
 was the trouble. She had nothing but her intuitions, 
 and she knew that man laughed at the intuitions 
 of woman. So Dorothy held her tongue. They 
 breakfasted leisurely, Dorothy not a little depressed 
 and making an effort to appear cheerful and happy. 
 
 When Trescotte had taken her to their apart 
 ments he went in search of Magrane. The lawyer 
 was found on the veranda just outside the doors of 
 the great office, his morning paper lying unread on 
 his knees, in a brown study, oblivious to the whirl 
 and flash of the butterflies of fashion about him. 
 
 He arose promptly when Trescotte spoke to him, 
 and rather nervously said : 
 
 " Let us go into Congress Park. I want to con 
 sult you on a matter of great concern. We can be 
 entirely alone there." 
 
 They sauntered down Broadway, chatting on 
 trivial matters, and turned into the Park, to a re 
 mote corner of which Magrane led Trescotte.
 
 20 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 It was apparent that the lawyer was not eager to 
 begin the consultation to which he had invited 
 Trescotte. Indeed, it was with an effort that he 
 began to speak : 
 
 " I am in Saratoga for no other purpose than to 
 see you. Certain statements have been made to me 
 that deeply concern you." 
 
 Trescotte took out his case and offered Magrane a 
 cigar. The lawyer declined and his client, selecting 
 one for himself, wondered humorously if this were 
 a prelude to the achievement of another million. 
 
 " I want to ask you some questions questions 
 you may think impertinent," the lawyer went on. 
 
 " Why, Magrane," replied Trescotte, striking a 
 match and lighting his cigar, "your questions could 
 not be impertinent. Our relations are too close." 
 
 " I suppose so," said the lawyer, picking from the 
 ground a green twig, and trying to tie it into a knot. 
 He devoted himself so moodily to this occupation, 
 that Trescotte, expectant, began to feel bored. The 
 lawyer broke out abruptly : 
 
 " Trescotte," he said as he threw the twig from 
 him, having broken it, " you were married to Miss 
 Dorothy Courtenay three months ago. Does she 
 know that once before you had gone through the 
 marriage ceremony?" 
 
 The abruptness of the lawyer, the unexpected 
 question, and the wonder how Magrane obtained 
 the knowledge, perplexed and startled Trescotte. 
 There was anger, both in his eyes and tones, as he 
 replied :
 
 WIPED, NOT WEDDED. 21 
 
 "You are treading nearer to impertinence than I 
 thought was possible, Magrane." 
 
 " I know it," answered the lawyer calmly, for since 
 he had made the plunge lie so dreaded he was in 
 possession of himself, and the lawyer again, rather 
 than the friend. " I ask the question as your coun 
 sel and legal adviser. Answer, please." 
 
 Magrane s manner disposed of Trescotte s anger 
 summarily : 
 
 " Yes," he replied; "and at the very beginning 
 of our engagement." 
 
 " Good ! " cried Magrane ; " that is far better than 
 I expected." 
 
 " I don t know what you are getting at," said 
 Trescotte, quite astonished at the lawyer s evident 
 satisfaction, " but when I went to her father for his 
 consent to our engagement, I did not receive it 
 until I had told him the story in all its details. His 
 approval was given after he knew everything I had 
 to tell." 
 
 " Still better," broke in Magrane, rubbing his 
 hands delightedly ; " it is in very good shape for 
 you on that side." 
 
 Trescotte was yet more perplexed by the lawyer s 
 manner, but he finished by saying : 
 
 " Returning to Miss Courtenay to inform her of 
 the result of my interview with her father, I told her 
 the story without reservation." 
 
 "Very, very good ! " exclaimed Magrane; "your 
 conduct was manly and upright. Now tell me the 
 story of the other affair, in all its detail, omitting no
 
 22 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 point." He hastened to add, " I do not ask from 
 idle curiosity. I have a purpose as you will soon 
 know." 
 
 " I am not proud of the story," said Trescotte 
 with a faint air of attempting to be humorous, " nor 
 happy in recalling it to memory. It is a story so 
 much more like the inventions of cheap romancers 
 than an actual happening in real life, and is such a 
 lameatable showing of my own weakness and absurd 
 youth, that I avoid putting it on exhibition, except 
 when necessary. Were it not supported by incon 
 trovertible documentary evidence, I would not ex 
 pect people to believe it." 
 
 " Yes, yes," interrupted Magrane with fine profes 
 sional scorn for apologies, " but give me the story." 
 
 " Well," Trescotte went on, not a little nettled by 
 the lawyer s manner," when I was about twenty-one 
 nine years ago I was in Switzerland where I had 
 fallen in with an American family named Hallock, 
 from Buffalo, consisting of the father and mother, 
 son and daughter. We traveled together. The 
 daughter, whose name was Elsie, and who was a 
 very pretty little girl, was about my own age, and 
 was principally noticeable for her alternation of 
 spirits, either deep depression or reckless gayety. 
 The son was some six or seven years older. There 
 were no love passages between Elsie and myself, nor 
 any attempts on either part. She treated me as she 
 did her brother, frolicked with me when gay, avoided 
 me when depressed. I regarded her merely as a 
 jolly little companion of vacation days.
 
 WIPED, NOT WEDDED. 23 
 
 " In our travels we reached a village near which 
 was a ruin Mr. Hallock thought worthy a visit, and 
 it was here my troubles began. On the evening of 
 our arrival, Elsie and I sat upon a low balcony 
 under the windows of the room of the inn occupied 
 by our party as a sitting room, Mrs. Hallock was 
 dozing within the room. Where Mr. Hallock and 
 the son were, I don t know. The moon was shining 
 and the ruins were plainly visible, two miles away. 
 Suddenly, and without a word to suggest the caprice, 
 Elsie, who was in one of her moods of reckless gayety, 
 climbed over the balcony railing, and let herself drop 
 to the back of a horse, one of two standing saddled 
 beneath. As she rode away laughing, she challenged 
 me to follow her. Moved by the same spirit of 
 recklessness, I followed on the other horse. I did 
 not come up with her until she had reached the 
 ruins. Here she proposed that we should climb to 
 a ledge or balcony projecting from the remains of 
 a battlement, from which, she said, she had heard a 
 fine view could be had. I fastened the horses to the 
 frail staircase by which the ledge was reached. We 
 had not been there long before the horses, frightened 
 at something, began to rear and plunge. I hastened 
 to quiet them, but before I could reach the stair 
 way the horses had pulled it down and, freeing 
 themselves, had galloped away. 
 
 " We were caught as in a trap. The stairway was 
 the only means of descent. At first Elsie thought 
 it was great larks. But when repeated calls and 
 shouts brought us no help, and it was plain that we
 
 24 SHOULD SHE HATE LEFT HIM? 
 
 should have to remain all night, she began to cry 
 and blame herself for the freak that had brought 
 us into such a predicament. I soothed her as best 
 I could. Finally she fell asleep with my coat about 
 her, and my shoulder for a pillow. Later I fell 
 asleep, and thus we were found in the early morning 
 by the angriest brother I ever sa\v. Returning to 
 the inn, we were loaded with reproaches by all the 
 family, and especially by an insufferably conceited 
 jack a cousin and a clergyman to boot who had, 
 as expected, joined the family during the night, and 
 for whom, I believe, Elsie had been destined. 
 
 " If my tale was believed it was not heeded, 
 though Elsie joined in asserting it. Mr. Hallock 
 insisted loudly that Elsie was compromised beyond 
 redemption, and the mother filled the air with 
 lamentations over her poor ruined daughter. The 
 brother declared that those who had ruined his sister 
 must care for her thereafter or deal with him. 
 Finding that the worst construction was put upon 
 the affair, and losing my head through my sympathy 
 for Elsie, who I thought was basely treated, in a 
 burst of chivalric anger I declared I would marry 
 her then and there and thus put an end to the out 
 rageous treatment of the girl. My proposal was 
 eagerly seized upon, though Elsie protested strenu 
 ously, but wholly on my account. She was silenced, 
 however, and almost before I was aw r are of it we 
 were made man and wife by the cousin, who went 
 through the ceremony as if he were attending his 
 own funeral."
 
 WIPED, NOT WEDDED. 25 
 
 " It looks as if it were a deep-laid trap for you," 
 interjected the lawyer. 
 
 " No," replied Trescotte positively, " for if it was, 
 Elsie would necessarily have had to have been a 
 party to it, and I am certain she was not. But I do 
 think now that Mr. Hallock saw what the opportunity 
 afforded and took advantage of it. I myself, from 
 my want of experience and by reason of my youth, 
 set the trap. The father and son sprang it. Some 
 question arising the next day as to the authority 
 of this cousin to perform the ceremony on foreign 
 soil, a civil marriage was had." 
 
 "Ah, there was your opportunity to escape," 
 cried the lawyer. 
 
 " Yes, if the question had been raised at first, 
 but a night had passed. Well, the details of our 
 life for the next five months are unimportant. If 
 we did not hate each other and quarrel, at least 
 we made no professions of love. We were young, 
 accepted our singular position with the light-hearted- 
 ness of youth, tried to enjoy life as we found it, and 
 to be agreeable to each other. What might have 
 been the final result of our close association of course 
 I cannot now tell, but when I recall Elsie s sweet 
 disposition and many admirable qualities, I can 
 imagine I could have in time grown very fond of 
 her. But one morning, having joined the Hallock 
 family at Berlin, a man named Adams [here Mr. 
 Magrane showed increased interest] presented him- 
 self, into whose arms Elsie rushed with a cry of joy. 
 Adams declared, he had co.me to take his legally
 
 26 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 wedded wife. Then a story was told which had been 
 concealed from me. A year previous Elsie had eloped 
 from Buffalo with this man Adams and had fled 
 with him to Cleveland. Whether young Hallock was 
 in Cleveland and had been informed by telegraph of 
 their flight to that place, or whether it was an acci 
 dent, I never knew, but, as a matter of fact, when 
 they stepped off the cars in that city he was await 
 ing them, and with police aid compelled Elsie to 
 return with him to Buffalo. Both Adams and Elsie 
 insisted that they had been married before leaving 
 Buffalo, but as neither could produce proof nor cer 
 tificate, and as the time of her leaving home in the 
 day and their arrival in the evening at Cleveland 
 would indicate they barely had time to catch the 
 train they arrived upon, young Hallock refused to 
 believe their story. Looking upon the whole affair 
 as something from which Elsie had been rescued in 
 time to save her reputation, the family had hastened 
 to Europe with Elsie to remove her from Adams 
 influence. But now he presented the indubitable 
 proofs of marriage. 
 
 " Whatever there was of dilemma, and to the great 
 disgust of the Hallock family, I promptly disposed 
 of by asserting my satisfaction with the prior claims 
 of Mr. Adams and by insisting that the previous 
 marriage made mine invalid. It was plain to see 
 where Elsie s heart was. If Adams was willing to 
 take her after due explanation, and in knowledge, I, 
 who had never pretended to a passion for the girl, 
 was satisfied that she should go to him. I had sense
 
 WIPED, NOT WEDDED. 2 7 
 
 enough to compel all, including Elsie and Adams, 
 to make written statements, duly sworn to, setting 
 forth the exact facts. It was about the only sensi 
 ble thing I did in the whole miserable affair." 
 
 " I have just spent six months with Adams. His 
 story agrees with yours in all essential particulars." 
 
 This was the only comment Mr. Magrane made 
 on Trescotte s story. 
 
 After a period of silence, during which Trescotte 
 waited for him, he spoke. " Adams consulted me 
 as to his own position in the matter three days ago. 
 A new phase of this tangle was made known to him 
 less than a year ago. A more complicated case 
 never came under my review. I can reach no other 
 conclusion than that Adams never was married to 
 Miss Hallock." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 Trescotte was surprised, and looked to Magrane 
 to continue. The lawyer returned the look without 
 speaking until the silence became embarrassing to 
 both. It was the lawyer who broke it. 
 
 " You do not seem to appreciate the weight of 
 that remark." 
 
 " I certainly do," returned Trescotte, brushing the 
 ashes from his cigar. " It is very hard upon Mrs. 
 Miss well, Elsie. I sympathize with her deeply. 
 If weak and deficient in judgment, I think she was a 
 well-meaning girl, and she certainly loved Adams. 
 It is hard for her to find at the end of all these 
 years, though wedded she is not a wife." 
 
 " But she is a wife," persisted Magrane,
 
 28 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIMt 
 
 Puzzled by the lawyer s apparent contradiction, 
 Trescotte turned inquiring eyes upon him. 
 
 " She is " Magrane hesitated to inflict the blow 
 " your wife." 
 
 The blood left Trescotte s face so quickly that 
 Magrane thought for a moment he would topple 
 over, but Trescotte cried out fiercely : 
 
 "And Dorothy?" 
 
 Mr. Magrane turned from him with a hopeless 
 gesture.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A GIRL BECOMES A WOMAN, 
 
 MR. MAGRANE S gesture was eloquent. 
 
 Trescotte asked no further questions, but sat up 
 right and rigid, his face expressionless. 
 
 The silence was so long that Mr. Magrane felt he 
 must do or say something to relieve the strain. 
 Mental suffering he had often witnessed ; it was 
 incidental to the practice of his profession. Within 
 the year he had assisted in the unmasking of one of 
 his own profession a man of the highest social 
 standing, whose punishment was more in the dis 
 grace of exposure than in the sentence of imprison 
 ment. In all these cases exposure had been antici 
 pated and there was a sort of preparation for it. 
 But in the case of Trescotte, revelation had come 
 without even the suspicion of its possible occur 
 rence. 
 
 " Of course," he said trying to assume an advisory 
 tone, " in view of all the circumstances, the charge 
 of bigamy against you cannot be maintained." 
 
 A faint gesture from Trescotte warned the lawyer 
 that he was on the wrong tack ; that Trescotte 
 gave no thought to himself, but to the deplorable 
 the dreadful position of Dorothy.
 
 30 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIMt 
 
 The recognition of this and the mockery of sym 
 pathy silenced Mr. Magrane. Yet he felt that the 
 man who sat so rigid and motionless must be 
 stirred into action, so he finally determined to tell 
 Trescotte the story as told him by Adams, believing 
 that it must quicken the stricken man into thought. 
 He began, but apparently without securing Tres- 
 cotte s attention. 
 
 From this recital it appeared that Adams, less 
 than a year previous, had learned that the civil 
 magistrate who had married Elsie Hallock and 
 himself, on the morning of their elopement, had been 
 removed from office for misdeeds the day previous, 
 and therefore had no authority to perform the 
 function. Whether he was aware of it at the time 
 did not appear, but a somewhat languid conscience 
 had, after the lapse of eight years, moved him to go 
 to Adams and tell him the truth. Magrane was 
 disposed to believe that it was less a matter of con 
 science than a belief, on hearing that Adams and 
 Elsie were separated, that his information would 
 have value to Adams and consequently money value 
 to himself. The separation was a fact. Though 
 Adams had condoned the five months Elsie had 
 lived with Trescotte, when Elsie s first born came 
 into the world, and its paternity in the nature of 
 things must be ascribed to Trescotte, those five 
 months rose up between Elsie and Adams to the 
 destruction of their domestic peace. When Adams 
 and her father, who had in time become reconciled 
 to his son-in-law, quarreled over a joint investment,
 
 A GIRL BECOMES A WOMAN, 31 
 
 the final result of the quarrel was that Elsie left 
 Adams and went to her father s house and care. 
 There had been other children born to Elsie, and 
 tonsiderable property had accumulated, in the 
 administration of which there had been some diffi 
 culty and embarrassment so long as Elsie was 
 under her father s influence. Adams had brooded 
 nearly a year over this discovery of his invalid 
 marriage, confiding in no one, until being thrown 
 into close relations with Magrane, and gaining con 
 fidence in the lawyer, he had taken counsel of him. 
 Thus it was that the lawyer had learned of Tres- 
 cotte s plight and of the invalidity of the marriage 
 just contracted. 
 
 The lawyer s story had the intended effect. 
 
 " My Dorothy must be told," said Trescotte. 
 
 " She must not be kept in ignorance," emphati 
 cally declared Magrane. " It is your duty to tell 
 her, and at once." 
 
 " I can t, I can t ! God help me, I can t ! You 
 will tell her." 
 
 There was such pathos in Trescotte s pleading, 
 that Magrane, who had not contemplated such a 
 duty, and shrank from it when suggested, at last 
 consented^ 
 
 " If it is to be done," he said rising briskly, " it 
 should be done at once." 
 
 He waited for Trescotte to join him, but the poof 
 fellow was loath to go. 
 
 " I know," said Magrane sympathetically, " what 
 a blow this is to you. I would have averted it if I
 
 32 SHOULD SffE HA VE LEFT HIM? 
 
 could, but having learned it there was no other 
 course open to me. You must see it in that 
 light." 
 
 "Yes, yes, yes," replied Trescotte, putting out his 
 hand and taking that of Magrane s warmly. " But 
 Dorothy ! " 
 
 " It will be very wrong not to reveal it to her. 
 She must know." 
 
 Trescotte yielded, leading the way to the hotel at 
 which they were stopping. 
 
 ,As they entered Mrs. Trescotte s apartments, a 
 glance at her husband s face was sufficient to tell 
 Dorothy that her forebodings were realized. What 
 had occurred ? With a cry of alarm she swept 
 across the room to Trescotte, who put out to her a 
 trembling arm and averted his face. 
 
 She turned to Magrane fiercely. 
 
 " What have you been doing ?" she demanded. 
 
 "I?" 
 
 It seemed to him that Dorothy charged all of 
 Trescotte s distress to him, and he resented it as an 
 injustice. Before he could say more, Trescotte 
 spoke, his voice weak and unsteady. 
 
 " Dorothy," he said, " Mr. Magrane has some 
 thing to tell you. It is I who should do it, but 
 I have neither the courage nor the power. Mr. 
 Magrane has mercifully consented to do it for me." 
 
 Dorothy looked from one to the other, deeply 
 impressed and much frightened. 
 
 Trescotte led her across the room, seating her in 
 a low chair. Bringing another into close relation
 
 A GIRL BECOMES A WOMAN. 33 
 
 he motioned to Magrane to occupy it, and without 
 further word went out of the room. 
 
 Magrane did not find it easy to begin his revela 
 tion. When he did, a fine instinct warned him to 
 tell the tale baldly, fact for fact, without sympathy 
 for the woman before him. 
 
 He had a listener who was breathless in her atten 
 tion, who followed the development step by step 
 with burning eyes, who made no comments, who 
 asked no questions, who showed no traces of 
 emotion, except in her rapid transitions of expres 
 sion, and these, skillful as he was, Magrane could 
 not interpret. 
 
 When he had finished Dorothy asked almost 
 sternly in her intensity : 
 
 " Have you told me all ? " 
 
 " Everything ! Without reservation." 
 
 " And you believe Harry my husband to be 
 without blame ? " 
 
 " Entirely so." 
 
 His answer seemed to give Dorothy such satis 
 faction that the idea crept into Magrane s mind 
 that apprehension for Trescotte had been her only 
 concern, and that she did not realize her own 
 position. 
 
 She sat with her hands clasped upon her knees 
 and her head bent in deep thought, so profound as 
 to seem to be oblivious of the lawyer s presence. 
 
 Magrane studied her. He noted the symmetrical 
 head, the waving brown hair with its reddish tinge, 
 the beautiful, delicate lines of her profile, the firm
 
 34 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 yet passionate turn of her red lips, the perfect com 
 plexion, now paler than usual, the quivering nostrils, 
 and the beautiful brown eyes. Those eyes baffled 
 him deep in color and rapid in play, but inscrut 
 able in their expression. He, who prided himself 
 on reading the human face as an open book, con 
 fessed himself at fault. All he could determine 
 was, that it was the face of a soul that could love 
 deeply and passionately. Her thoughts he could 
 not read, nor analyze the emotions by which she 
 was swayed. He could see, however, that she, who 
 was facing a ruined life, was under marvelous control. 
 
 He thought, as he studied her, that she was the 
 stronger of the two, and in this, her trial, would 
 follow the dictates of her own conscience, and not 
 be swayed from them. 
 
 Dorothy at length roused herself and asked : 
 
 " Where is my husband?" 
 
 There was aggressiveness in the emphasis she 
 gave to the pronoun, and the thought again 
 occurred to Magrane that she did not realize her 
 position, so he said : 
 
 " The situation is a grave one ; the complications 
 are the most singular of any case I have ever had 
 under review," the phrase was a favorite one with 
 him "and the injuries fall most heavily upon those 
 least able to bear them, that is in the view of the 
 world." 
 
 " Yes," Dorothy replied simply. 
 
 Magrane thought he was not understood yet, so 
 he continued:
 
 A GIRL BECOMES A WOMAN. 35 
 
 " I mean the two women involved yourself and 
 Mrs. Adams." 
 
 He hesitated over the name to apply to the 
 other woman. 
 
 Dorothy looked up sharply, and replied : 
 
 " Yes, for Mrs. Adams, separated from her hus 
 band and with her children." 
 
 Magrane began to doubt his powers of expres 
 sion when he found he had signally failed to make 
 clear that the woman who for eight years or more 
 had lived with Adams as his wife was not Mrs. 
 Adams, but Mrs. Trescotte. Yet he shrank from 
 delivering the direct blow that would awaken 
 Dorothy to the fact he wanted her to comprehend. 
 He sought another method. 
 
 "My statement of fact is ended," he said. "To 
 advise is my profession. Though I am Mr. Tres- 
 cotte s counsel, yet I can serve you in the same 
 capacity." 
 
 The look Dorothy gave him was swift and 
 searching. 
 
 " Ah ? " Her ejaculation conveyed no meaning 
 to him. 
 
 " I presume you will return to-day to your father. 
 Command me in any way you may desire." 
 
 " Return to my father ? " 
 
 She repeated the words slowly, with a wondering 
 expression in her eyes. 
 
 " Yes," replied Magrane, " you see, you are not 
 now legally the wife of Mr. Trescotte." 
 
 Tne first expression of pain he had yet noted
 
 5& SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 swept over her face so deep and poignant, that he 
 regretted he had used so little delicacy in forcing 
 her position to her attention, 
 
 At this moment Trescotte, who without comfort 
 had been pacing the long corridor, entered the room. 
 Dorothy sprang from her seat, crossed rapidly to 
 him, and laying both her hands upon his, looked 
 up into his face, asking : 
 
 " Hairy, is it your wish to be rid of me ? " 
 
 It flashed across the suspicious lawyer mind of 
 Magrane that she thought she was the victim of 
 an intrigue. 
 
 Such was not the thought of Trescotte. He saw 
 what the lawyer did not see : lifted brown eyes 
 shining with love of him. Though Magrane was there, 
 though Dorothy was not his wife, though he had no 
 rights, he embraced her passionately as he murmured: 
 
 "Wish? The mere thought of separation has 
 broken my heart ! " 
 
 Dorothy freed herself sufficiently to turn a 
 triumphant face to Magrane. 
 
 Why should the lawyer have accepted that 
 triumphant look as a challenge? Yet he did, for 
 going to Trescotte, he said : 
 
 " I ask that you leave me for a moment or two 
 with this lady ? " 
 
 Dorothy did not fail to note that the lawyer had 
 avoided speaking of her as Trescotte s wife, and she 
 resented it, as was plainly seen by the flash of her 
 eyes. She faced Magrane, as for battle, as Tres 
 cotte passed into the adjoining room.
 
 A GIRL BECOMES A WOMAN. 37 
 
 " I conceive it to be my duty," began Magrane 
 sternly, " a duty I owe Mr. Trescotte, you, per 
 haps society, to point out plainly to you your 
 position." 
 
 Dorothy slightly inclined her head, but whether 
 she intended it as permission to proceed, or whether 
 in token of her understanding of his meaning, he 
 could not determine, but he did not fail to perceive 
 in her manner something which made him wish he 
 had not taken so superior a tone with her. 
 
 " I have the profoundest sympathy for you," he 
 went on to say, with more deference. " Your situ 
 ation is not only distressing, but so far as I am 
 informed, without parallel. Mr. Trescotte told you 
 and your father of his former relation before he 
 entered into engagement with you. He told you 
 then what he and everybody party to the affair 
 believed to be the truth. His conduct " 
 
 " It is needless to discuss Mn Trescotte s part in 
 this affair," she interrupted to say. " His conduct is 
 blameless. Please confine yourself to my position." 
 
 Magrane felt that her antagonistic attitude was 
 due to his own manner, but he went on stolidly 
 determined : 
 
 " I address myself to that," he said with a bow. 
 " The marriage between Miss Elsie Hallock and Mr, 
 Adams being invalid, of necessity the subsequent 
 marriage of Miss Hallock to Mr. Trescotte, being 
 duly performed, is valid." 
 
 Dorothy winced, but continued to look him 
 steadily in the eyes.
 
 38 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 "And consequently, the ceremony of your mar 
 riage to Mr. Trescotte is invalid as if it had not 
 taken place. You have no right to the name of 
 Trescotte." 
 
 " That is the view of the law? " asked Dorothy. 
 
 " Of the law," he acquiesced ; " and, as you will 
 find, of society, using that term as you best know 
 it." 
 
 Society! The word summoned up the vision of 
 her mother. 
 
 "That being the case," continued Magrane, " you 
 are not the wife of Henry Trescotte, and cannot 
 remain with him, without serious results to your 
 own reputation without loss of your own place in 
 society." 
 
 Dorothy did not seem to be as much affected by 
 this statement as Magrane had expected. 
 
 " Is it not lost already?" she asked. 
 
 Somewhat startled out of his self-complacency on 
 finding how well she realized her position, the 
 lawyer hesitated before replying. 
 
 "It certainly has been changed." 
 
 " Lost ! " she said imperatively. " Is it not ? You 
 say you speak of my position. Be frank. Society 
 the world in which I have always moved is cruel 
 to women. It forgives mistakes before it does 
 misfortunes. Though I am blameless will the 
 world accept me ? " 
 
 " I think," said Magrane evasively, " your world 
 will sympathize with you." 
 
 " How ? By regarding me as tainted by closing
 
 A GIRL BECOMES A WOMAN. 39 
 
 its doors against me. Why ? Because I have been 
 unfortunate, though I am neither wrong nor vicious. 
 To my world there is no difference between myself, 
 the victim of a misfortune, and the young girl who 
 has weakly and basely yielded to the tempter, the 
 victim of her own passions. That is my position." 
 
 This young girl, barely twenty, puzzled the astute 
 lawyer. Had he not been a witness of that brief 
 scene with Trescotte he would have declared that 
 she was a glittering block of ice ; therefore he con 
 cluded it was an exhibition of marvelous self-con 
 trol, so calm and emotionless did she seem to be. 
 It never occurred to this astute man of the world 
 that he was a witness of the processes of an evolu 
 tion. Before he could reply she went on : 
 
 " There are things which with all your wisdom you 
 cannot comprehend things only a woman can, and 
 I cannot tell you. But there is something dearer to 
 a woman, whether the Church has pronounced its 
 sacrament over her or not, than reputation or life, 
 and if this is struck at, she will resent it with all the 
 power she has. At this, my world strikes madly, 
 and it will strike at mine when it is mine. You 
 instruct me as to my position ? You have not the 
 slightest comprehension of it." 
 
 There was no doubt as to her emotion now. He 
 did not understand her meaning, but he felt her 
 withering contempt. 
 
 " I meant to advise," he replied rather humbly, to 
 his own annoyance, " your immediate return to 
 your father. It is a duty you owe to yourself."
 
 4 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIMt 
 
 " A duty ; yes," she was calm and emotionless 
 again. " I know my position ; now, I must learn 
 my duty." 
 
 "You should not permit your affection for Mr. 
 Trescotte to cloud your judgment," he went on, re 
 gaining self-confidence. 
 
 " No," she replied, " I must not permit my judg 
 ment to be clouded." 
 
 Her manner irritated him, and he continued with 
 asperity in his tones. 
 
 " Nor should you permit the affection of Mr. 
 Trescotte to influence you to any other course." 
 
 " Mr. Trescotte would not advise me to other 
 than the right course." Her words were sharp and 
 decisive. 
 
 " Then," he said with a bow, feeling strongly that 
 if there had been a battle, the trophies of victory 
 were not his, "when I have pointed out that you 
 cannot remain under the same roof with Mr. Tres 
 cotte to-night, though you occupy different apart 
 ments, without incurring censure, my advice is 
 done." 
 
 Dorothy, bowing to the lawyer, went to the bed 
 room door and said : 
 
 " Harry, Mr. Magrane is going." 
 
 Trescotte entered in time to hear Dorothy 
 say: 
 
 " Mr. Trescotte and myself, together, will deter 
 mine our respective duties." 
 
 " You will see Mr. Courtenay on your return and 
 tell him ? " asked Trescotte anxiously.
 
 A GIRL BECOMES A WOMAN. 41 
 
 "Yes," replied Magrane ; " to-night, when I hope 
 and expect to know his daughter has returned to 
 him." 
 
 He cast a significant glance at Dorothy. 
 
 As he left the room, Trescotte turned wonder 
 ingly to his wife.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 EVOLUTION. 
 
 FROM the moment Magrane had revealed to him 
 the complication in which he and Dorothy were 
 involved, Trescotte s first thought had been for her. 
 His own position he did not think of, not even of 
 the distress and deep grief their separation would 
 entail. That such separation would be the inevita 
 ble and immediate result of the revelation to 
 Dorothy, he was certain. This conclusion was not 
 so much the result of his estimate of Dorothy s 
 character as it was of his own training and 
 education, and his instant recognition of the 
 influences of education, training, and association 
 upon all girls of Dorothy s ilk and rank in the social 
 world. It is true that Trescotte had no fixed ideas 
 upon the subject ; that he had never given thought 
 to questions of relations of the sexes. So, when 
 this social problem was suddenly presented to him, 
 in which he was a factor himself, he took the views 
 already made for him and applied them to its solu 
 tion, so far as they would go. Dorothy was not his 
 wife ; girls in the walk of life of Dorothy do not 
 live with men who are not their husbands ; there- 
 fore, Dorothy would not continue to live with him.
 
 EVOLUTION; 43 
 
 It was simple and fundamental logic. Simulta 
 neously with the appreciation of the horrible fact 
 that Dorothy was not his wife, was the conclusion 
 that she would immediately depart from him, and 
 that in honor he could not raise a hand to stay her. 
 
 Such further thought as he was capable of in his 
 distraught condition, was given to Dorothy s dread 
 ful position her life ruined by means of which he 
 was the instrument. And what was maddening, he 
 could see no way out, nothing that could be done 
 for her. He was not deficient in either physical or 
 moral courage, but he shrank from being a witness 
 of the anguish Dorothy would naturally exhibit 
 when she learned what her position in the world 
 was. That was the reason why he had asked 
 Magrane to tell her. Had he loved her less, he 
 could have told her himself. He thought, too, and 
 he did not shrink from it, that in her first grief she 
 would reproach him, nor would he blame her if she 
 did. He knew Dorothy well enough to know that, 
 after the first wild burst, she would do him the 
 justice of admitting that what he had done was 
 done in ignorant innocence. 
 
 When, then, after the door closed upon Mr. 
 Magrane, Dorothy came to him without words of 
 reproach, with sober yet pitying face, and laid her 
 hands upon his arm, looking up into his eyes, he was 
 bewildered. He thought Magrane had failed to do 
 as he had promised. 
 
 " You have heard the whole of the dreadful 
 story?" he asked.
 
 44 SHOULD SHE HA VE LEFT HIMt 
 
 "The whole of the dreadful story," she replied. 
 
 " And you know what it all means to you ? " 
 
 " I know what it all means to me." 
 
 There was no flinching in her looks or demeanor. 
 
 " You have no words of blame or censure for 
 me?" 
 
 " None ; except that you sent Mr. Magrane to tell 
 me the story instead of coming yourself." 
 
 This was so different from what he had made sure 
 he would meet that he was confused. He passed 
 his hand over his eyes as if he would brush away 
 the mists that seemed to obscure his senses. 
 
 " Come," she said, as she took his hand and led 
 him to the chair she had occupied when listening to 
 Magrane, gently urging him into it. Then bringing 
 a low stool, which she placed at his feet, she seated 
 herself on it, leaning her arms upon his knees. 
 Looking up into his eyes, as if she would search the 
 innermost recesses of his mind, she said : 
 
 " In this dreadful crisis of our lives, you and I 
 must find out what our duty is our duty to each 
 other, to ourselves." 
 
 He laid a trembling hand upon her head and 
 gently stroked her soft silken hair. 
 
 " I have ruined your life," was the reply he made. 
 
 " No," she said soberly and quietly ; " it is for 
 you to decide now whether you will ruin it or not." 
 
 Her manner was so calm, her mood so quiet, and 
 she was in such possession of herself, that, failing to 
 comprehend her, Trescotte s confusion was increased 
 rather than lessened.
 
 EVOLUTION. 45 
 
 Unconsciously he expressed a thought aloud. 
 
 " It has worked a great change in you." 
 
 " Yes," she replied, almost without emotion, " a 
 great change. I am a woman now ; not the girl 
 you parted from after breakfast." 
 
 Trescotte s despair and distress was pictured on 
 his face. She took his hand in her own and intui 
 tively reading his mind, said : 
 
 " It is your thought of me that is distressing you 
 of my future, my position in the world, of what 
 people will think of me, of what I fear they will 
 think of me. Have you no thought of yourself? " 
 
 "Myself?" There was contempt in his tone. 
 "What of myself? What is there, except the loss 
 of your love and of your life to mine, I cannot easily 
 brush aside ? " 
 
 Dorothy pressed the hand she was stroking. 
 
 " I do not reproach you." 
 
 " No. Were you to show emotion, I would be 
 relieved. It is your calmness that distresses me. 
 As you are not wanting in emotion, it must be the 
 calmness of despair." 
 
 " You are much mistaken," she replied firmly. 
 " I do not despair. Long before Mr. Magrane had 
 finished the story, I had appreciated it in all its 
 relations, had thought it all out, and determined 
 upon my duty." 
 
 Trescotte looked at her inquiringly. 
 
 " There is nothing for which you could be blamed. 
 Could you have anticipated this; had you had 
 knowledge which you concealed ; had you even
 
 4$ SHOULD SHE HA VE LEFT HIMt 
 
 a suspicion of these troubles, and wooed and won me, 
 the case would have been different very different. 
 So," she continued, with a charming air of enforcing 
 a logical proposition, " if you were not to blame in 
 coming to me, you are not to blame for the situa 
 tion in which we find ourselves. You say you have 
 ruined my life. Whether you have or not belongs 
 to another part of our talk, and will be answered 
 when we have finished." 
 
 Distraught as he was, Trescotte did not fail to 
 note, now that the deeper powers of her mind 
 were called into play, how orderly and methodical 
 were Dorothy s thoughts. 
 
 " But," she went on earnestly, " assume for a 
 moment that ruin has come to me, no one is to 
 blame for it. It was an accident just as the loss 
 of our property or of our sight would be." 
 
 "You are very generous," he said. 
 
 " No," she replied promptly ; " it is not gen- 
 erosity, it is only justice, and no more than the law 
 of the land would mete out to you. That is what 
 Mr. Magrane says. And you say that it is only 
 important to you as it takes me out of your life. 
 So we can dismiss you from our talk." 
 
 " Then it all comes back to you your future 
 your ruined life!" he cried. 
 
 " Yes ; it all comes back to me," she looked up 
 into his face, smiling adorably. " I am ready to 
 talk of my position. The first thing is, what is 
 your duty to me." 
 
 " My first duty to you ? " he repeated, somewhat
 
 EVOLUTION. 47 
 
 bewildered and taking refuge in a commonplace. 
 " It is to see that you are shielded from misappre 
 hension as to our relations." 
 
 A shade of disappointment flitted over Dorothy s 
 face. It was not the answer she desired. Trescotte 
 noted it, without understanding it. 
 
 "And what else?" she demanded with a sugges 
 tion of that imperative manner which he had found 
 so charming in the days of their courtship. 
 
 " And to secure your happiness," he answered. 
 
 "That is better. And how is that to be 
 secured ? " 
 
 Trescotte was not so ready with the reply. It 
 was so easy to say what should be done, and so 
 hard to suggest the means. She waited for a reply. 
 
 "Well," he said after a little thought, "your 
 position is, that you have lived with me as my 
 wife, though not wedded. You entered the 
 relation under the sanction of law and church. 
 The world knows that. Therefore up to this 
 time, it cannot blame you. But now you have 
 knowledge that I was not free to marry you that 
 you could not enter into the relation of wife to me. 
 Therefore, every moment spent with me after that 
 knowledge will lay you open to censure to the 
 world s condemnation." 
 
 " In short," she said, forcing the conclusion he 
 avoided in terms, " up to the present moment I am 
 an honest woman, but if I spend another night with 
 you I will be a woman with a lost reputation." 
 
 Trescotte turned his head away in deep pain,
 
 48 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT 
 
 Such was the dreadful truth and none the les<. 
 dreadful because she looked it in the face so 
 bravely. 
 
 Dorothy pulled his face to her gently, as she 
 asked : " And your conclusion is ? " 
 
 " There is but one conclusion," he said hopelessly. 
 " We must separate. You must gain an there is to 
 be gained, by instant separation." 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 " Our intercourse must end, so that the world 
 shall have no opportunity to censure," 
 
 "Will that secure my happiness?" 
 
 This time Trescotte did not reply so promptly. 
 Happiness to either seemed so far away. " It is 
 perhaps a step in that direction," he replied. 
 
 Dorothy averted her head, slightly bending it in 
 thought, the while, however, she gently stroked his 
 hand. Trescotte did not disturb her, but gave him- 
 self up to the thought of how hard it was to leave 
 her, and that nothing but an ardent desire for her 
 well being could make him consent to a moment s 
 separation. 
 
 Suddenly she lifted her head and shot a question 
 at him that seemed almost an echo of his own 
 thought: "Does your heart indicate this course?" 
 
 " My heart ? " he exclaimed, deeply pained. " Oh, 
 how can such a thought be suggested to you ? No, 
 no ; not my heart. It is the coldest judgment I 
 can summon." 
 
 Her eyes lighted up with pleasure. 
 
 " And what would separation do for me ?"
 
 EVOLUTION 49 
 
 Trescotte hesitated in his reply, looking very 
 hopeless. 
 
 " You know," she added, " all this is very serious 
 to me, and I want to know all about it." 
 
 " Why why," stammered Trescotte, not really 
 knowing what it would do, for he had not looked 
 beyond the separation, " why, at least, it will show 
 the world that you have cut off all relations as soon 
 as your knowledge made them improper to you." 
 
 " Ah, yes, the world. " She gave to the phrase 
 a peculiar inflection which Trescotte could not 
 understand. " In other words, if I leave you now, 
 I shall have secured so much respectability as the 
 world will grant to one placed as I am." 
 
 Trescotte acquiesced by a sign, so pained by this 
 evidence of Dorothy s recognition of the limitations 
 of that respectability that he could not speak. 
 For the first time he felt a self-pity that he, of all 
 persons, was compelled to force that recognition 
 upon her. She went on remorselessly, as he could 
 not help thinking. 
 
 " And if I do leave you now, shall I be secured 
 in the old position I held before ? Will the doors 
 of all the houses be opened to me that were open 
 before ? Shall I have the same friendships and 
 companionships? Shall I be permitted to associate 
 with the young girls as I used to do ? " 
 
 Trescotte could not answer. She had entered 
 upon a field he had not explored, except vaguely 
 under the cover of the phrase " her ruined life." 
 
 " Or," she went on relentlessly, " will it not be,
 
 SO SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 that though I fly from you as if there were con* 
 tagion in your arms, that I shall be a subject of 
 gossip and insolent sympathy, until the topic is for- 
 gotten in the misfortune of somebody else ; dis 
 cussed at teas, to which I am not invited, and dis 
 sected at dinners, where no plate is laid for me ? 
 Will it not be said that I could have done no less 
 to save my respectability, by the very people who 
 will be careful not to leave a card for me when they 
 call upon mamma ? Will not everybody in my world 
 say that I must not expect to take my old place, 
 but must withdraw from public sight and contact?" 
 
 " Is not your view extreme ?" protested the har 
 rowed Trescotte. 
 
 "I think not," she replied thoughtfully. "Was 
 not that the fate of Mrs. Hughcombe, whose hus 
 band left her, for reasons no one yet knows? Was 
 not Mrs. Edgebury sent to Coventry because her 
 husband was killed in a quarrel with Col. Birney, 
 which grew out of Mr. Edgebury s charge that the 
 Colonel was too marked in his attentions to his 
 wife and had compromised her, although it was 
 shown at the trial that Colonel Birney was merely 
 seeking her good offices to bring about a reconcilia 
 tion between himself and his wife ? Well, let us 
 assume I have done what you suggest what the 
 world, my world, commands, will not the fate of 
 these women be mine ? Shall I not be what they 
 are women with a past ? " 
 
 Trescotte, heart torn by this implacable dissec 
 tion of her position, cried out:
 
 EVOLUTION. 51 
 
 "O Dorothy, if my death could place you 
 where you were three months ago, I would gladly 
 welcome it ! " 
 
 " But it can t, dear," said Dorothy. " So, we 
 must continue to examine our position. Then, by 
 doing what you think I ought to do, I would gain a 
 respectability which would bring me none of the 
 privileges or rewards of respectability." 
 
 Trescotte groaned over the inevitable conclusion. 
 He again resorted to the irritating commonplace: 
 
 " You would do what was right in the sight of 
 the world." 
 
 " Ah, that world ! " Again that peculiar inflection 
 so perplexing to Trescotte. " I would be doing 
 what the people, who would carefully avoid me, 
 would say was right. Well then, that point is 
 settled. In the sight of the world, my world, to 
 leave you would be my duty. To whom?" 
 
 Trescotte could not answer readily. So she went 
 on : 
 
 "To you? You say your position is nothing, 
 except as I am taken from you. To the world ? 
 What do I owe it, since it would banish me ? To 
 morality ? I have obeyed every law laid down for 
 me and am as I am through no fault of my own. 
 To myself? Ah! what would it bring me? Would 
 it secure my happiness ? " 
 
 " Ah, poor child ! " 
 
 The utter hopelessness of the outlook broke with 
 increased force over Trescotte again. 
 
 " If," she said, tenderly nursing the hand she had
 
 5* SHOULD SHE HAVE LLFT HIMt 
 
 never let go from her grasp, " if there was happiness 
 in my life before I met you, all that brought it to 
 me would be denied me. Since you have come into 
 my life, my chief happiness has been in you, and 
 has come from you, and that too would be denied 
 me. So the conclusion is, that to do my duty as the 
 world sees it, is to gain a respectability which has 
 neither privileges nor rewards at the sacrifice of 
 all my happiness." 
 
 The mists suddenly cleared from Trescotte s brain. 
 He not only understood now, but he saw clearly the 
 future of Dorothy, with its dividing roads. 
 
 " Dorothy ! " 
 
 He sprang from his seat, lifting her with him, 
 and with an arm about her waist, he turned her face 
 to the light that he might read plainly its expres 
 sions. 
 
 " You see," she said, looking up into the eyes 
 bending over her so searchingly, " I have had such 
 happiness in the thought of that beautiful home 
 you have builded for me. And I have dreamed so 
 happily of our lives within it that home which 
 even now is awaiting us. 
 
 " But it is yours. I gave it to you." 
 
 The smile with which she answered him wa< 
 ineffably divine. 
 
 " Would it be my home and you not there ? " 
 
 Trescotte, drew her closely to him, and in a voice 
 low but laden with passion, asked : 
 
 "You would give up the world for me?" 
 
 " If I leave you the world will have given me up
 
 EVOLUTION, 53 
 
 by the time I shall have reached my father s 
 house." 
 
 " You would forsake friends family ? " 
 " Have I not already vowed, in the most sacred 
 place, to keep me only unto you, so long as we both 
 shall live?" 
 
 Trescotte folded Dorothy close in his arms in an 
 ecstacy of resolve that seemed to him like a new 
 sacrament. But again Society loomed up on his 
 vision Society with its ethics and prejudices, too 
 strong in its influences from his cradle to be lightly 
 disregarded. Gently disengaging Dorothy, he took 
 her by the hands and, holding her from him, asked: 
 " Do you know what this involves ? " 
 " I have thought it all out." 
 "The world will condemn you." 
 " It will shun me, when it does not condemn." 
 " It will take from you that respect it will other 
 wise give you." 
 
 " But happiness will be mine." 
 "Society will ignore you insult you." 
 " I can ignore Society. It has not a monoply of 
 happiness." 
 
 Trescotte silently held her hands, thinking pro 
 foundly and rapidly. His spirit was not timid, nor 
 his love weak, and that was why he had the courage 
 to think of and for her. He saw the yawning guli 
 between the life Dorothy had lived and the one she 
 was so willing to enter upon. He was looking into 
 the mind of the Dorothy who had passed through 
 the ordeal of ostracism and renunciation, to find if
 
 54 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 she would not then cry out against those who had 
 not protected her against herself. 
 
 He let her hands slowly fall from his own, stag 
 gered by the fearful thought, and turned away from 
 her, saying: 
 
 " The sacrifice is too vast : it cannot be, it cannot 
 be!" 
 
 He had taken but a step or two, when she was 
 beside him with her hand upon his shoulder. He 
 halted and listened to her words, thrilling in their 
 persuasion : 
 
 " Do not ruin my life ! " 
 
 The afternoon concert began on the veranda 
 beneath. The solemn melody of the Lohengrin 
 Wedding March floated in through the open win 
 dows. The tenderness in Dorothy s face deepened 
 as she repeated the words : 
 
 " Entreat me not to leave thee, for whither thou 
 goest I will go ; and where thou lodgest I will 
 lodge." 
 
 He caught her in his arms, crying: 
 
 " Until death do us part." 
 
 The last train for New York was pulling out of 
 the station when Mr. Magrane stepped on board. 
 He had waited until the last moment watching the 
 gate through which travelers pass through to the 
 train. 
 
 Dorothy was not one of those who passed 
 through.
 
 BOOK II. DECISION. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MARRIAGE A LA MODE. 
 
 THAT Hilda Courtenay and Hermann Waldemar 
 were engaged became known upon the plighting 
 of troth. No more startling and sensational news 
 could have been given currency in Newport. There 
 was, to be sure, an unusually large crop of Italian 
 princes, English earls, French counts, and German 
 barons, but where the assurance of the reality of 
 their titles had not been established, the poverty of 
 their purses had. Therefore with his noble connec 
 tions in Germany; his hundreds of thousands in 
 hand and millions in prospect ; his cottage in New- 
 port, mansion in New York, and villa at Tuxedo ; 
 his stable of winning blood at Sheepshead ; and his 
 yacht in the offing, young Waldemar was the most 
 desirable parti of the season. 
 
 Sore and bitter was the disappointment in fifty 
 households of that superior and exclusive commu 
 nity when their young women, who had been in 
 training all the spring, learned that Hilda Courtenay 
 had been placed first, and the rest nowhere. It was 
 the disappointment of ambition, not of affection. 
 
 55
 
 5 6 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 No doubt, with their anguish was mixed a little 
 fear of those acrid stings the matron mothers would 
 inflict when reproaching their dear daughters for 
 their want of success, calmly ignoring that these 
 failures were quite as much due to their own lack of 
 skill in manipulation a skill which Mrs. Courtenay 
 had exercised to the confusion and humiliation of 
 her dear friends. 
 
 In the retirement of her own boudoir, Mrs. 
 Courtenay, with pleasure and satisfaction, reviewed 
 her triumph. It was her triumph because it was 
 the result of her skill. Hilda might flatter herself 
 that it was her own charms that had brought Walde- 
 mar to her feet. Mrs. Courtenay was content that 
 her daughter should remain in that blissful assur 
 ance, but that lady knew better ; she knew only too 
 well with what difficulty the young man had been 
 brought to book ; with what cleverness she had pre 
 cipitated the situation from which there was no 
 escape except through proposal. Nor did she in 
 her indulgence of a natural elation fail to appreciate 
 that the assurance of security would not be hers 
 until she had seen the two young people safely 
 marriedc She could not deny Hilda the credit of 
 being a most excellent and pliable instrument. 
 That young woman had beauty, though not of so 
 refined a type as that of Dorothy s ; and an air of 
 fine distinction, which, if not of the dignity of her 
 elder sister, yet, when tricked out for the course, 
 was quite impressive. But she possessed that in 
 which Dorothy was sadly deficient, a realizing sense
 
 MARRIAGE A LA MODE. 57 
 
 of her duty to the station of life into which she was 
 born, and she was not cursed, as Dorothy was, with 
 ideas. All this made her ductile in the hands of 
 her mother ; and skillful her mother was an artist, 
 rather than a mechanic an artist who knew how to 
 conceal art by art. 
 
 Not the smallest part of the pleasure Mrs. Courte- 
 nay derived from the contemplation of her triumph 
 was in the knowledge that all her dear matron 
 friends, who, in the rounds of pleasure of the next 
 few days, would greet her with smiling congratula 
 tions, were now consumed with angry envy. With 
 what never failing interest that trite reflection re 
 curs, that most of our joys would turn to dead 
 ashes, could we not know that their possession was 
 the cause of envy, distress and mortification in 
 others ! 
 
 It may be supposed that this young Waldemar, 
 over whom all this stir was made, was a very 
 superior young man. But we of that world which 
 is much the larger have such differing ideas of 
 superiority. John Brown, whose fifteen plays were 
 damned, is compelled to look upon Alfred Barnes, 
 whose seven plays were successful, as his superior; 
 and if he doesn t, the managers, whose opinions are 
 decisive, do. Charlie Smith who pulls in a single 
 skull race may not think Tom Netting his superior, 
 but the crowd which applauded Tom as he shot 
 over the line first thinks otherwise. The dignified 
 professors who hand to Nathanial the laurel wreath 
 evidently consider him superior to " Baby" Elling,
 
 5 & SHOULD SHE HA VE LEFT HIM* 
 
 the quarter back, who on last Thanksgiving Day 
 was carried off the grounds on the shoulders of as 
 many of his admirers as could get under him. 
 Young Sturdy, who is advancing rapidly in grasp- 
 ing the essentials of the difficult problems of trans- 
 portation, and is steadily promoted by his admiring 
 board of directors, is not regarded by the wives and 
 daughters of those directors as superior to young 
 Brochulst, who is equally skillful at turning a corner 
 with a tandem or a four-in-hand. We all have such 
 different standards. I am disposed to believe that, 
 if a jury of a hundred were picked, haphazard, 
 from passers-by of Broadway, any fine day, and 
 Waldemar were presented before it for judgment. 
 he would be voted a very ordinary young man. 
 Because the danger would be, a majority would 
 not deem mansions, horses, yachts, and pros 
 pects of riches, virtues, but rather accessories, most 
 convenient and wholly comfortable to possess. 
 And there might be a few who would insist that 
 morality had claims for consideration. If such an 
 old-fashioned test were applied to young Waldemar, 
 I am afraid the crown of superiority would be with- 
 held by such a jury. Not that Waldemar did not 
 pay his debts; his income provided against that 
 vulgarity. He was honest in his dealings where 
 money was concerned strictly honorable, as was 
 shown in the way he provided for the little girl 
 whom he had persuaded to abandon her family and 
 the six dollars a week she earned at Grabbies shop, 
 >vhen his affections were suddenly transferred, one
 
 MARRIAGE A LA MODE. 59 
 
 night at Foster and Vials, to a whirling divinity 
 clothed in pink fleshings and multi-colored lights. 
 Nor did he ever fail to pay his losses and they 
 were often heavy at baccarat, after the dear Prince 
 made that game fashionable. The men voted him 
 a square fellow, who backed his horses to run with 
 nerve, a straight-going sportsman at all the games, 
 who devoted enough time to the business in which 
 he was a partner to assure his father that he would 
 succeed him with credit. With the women he was 
 a model, for he dressed immaculately for every oc 
 casion, did not smoke on the top of his drag, nor 
 show evidences at social gatherings of too many 
 visits to the champagne table, and was so rich 
 that he could give the woman he married every 
 thing her heart desired, and I ask, in all candor, as 
 the world is now constituted, what more could be 
 wished ? 
 
 It was Tracey Harte, one of young Waldmar s 
 intimate friends, who gave the fact of the engage 
 ment to the world. He was making a round of 
 calls, previous to his departure for Saratoga, where 
 the racing was about to begin, and where his and 
 Waldemar s horses were to run. Mrs. Trevor-Allen 
 received his first call. This was not because the 
 Trevor-Allen cottage was naturally the first one he 
 would pass as he sallied forth from his own roof, nor 
 because familiarity with the Trevor-Allen menage 
 assured him that the aged head thereof had reached 
 that hour and state when a nap was a necessary 
 preparation for dinner^ but because this season
 
 60 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIMt 
 
 Tracey affected Mrs. Trevor-Allen and made her the 
 object of his attentive adoration. 
 
 The young matron accepted these attentions 
 neither as a tribute to her charms nor as a proof of 
 his fascinations, but as a convenience, her husband 
 having passed into that age and condition when he 
 was neither useful nor obstructive. It was to the 
 young matrons that Tracey devoted himself exclu 
 sively. The marriage ceremony, for him, invested 
 the other sex with additional charms. The girl 
 whose presence politeness only prevented him from 
 ignoring, became at once, after leaving the altar 
 where she had been breathing vows of devotion to 
 a husband, an object to him of adoring interest. 
 There was something dashing, reckless, " demn it, 
 don t you know," in this pursuit, that suggested pis 
 tols and fields of honor the first of which he had 
 never discharged and the other he would not know 
 if he found himself upon it. Yet he lived in daily 
 hopes of a scandalous gossip in which his name 
 would be involved, and an affaire & amour with a 
 high-born, youthful matron, which he had never yet 
 achieved, but which was his highest ambition. He 
 had shown more of good taste, and less of good 
 judgment in his selection of Mrs. Trevor-Allen, 
 than usual. For bright and witty, she was gifted 
 with rare powers of penetration which enabled 
 her to read shrewdly the people who came within 
 her ken. Tracey s siege might have the exciting 
 qualities of the chase, but it was destined to failure. 
 She told him so, on the day in question.
 
 MARRIAGE A LA MODE. 6* 
 
 "Tracey," said that most extraordinary woman 
 in response to a subtle compliment, the coinage of 
 which had delayed his breakfast an hour, " Tracey, 
 it is great folly to make love to me." 
 
 The young man thought of something about 
 folly and sweetness, but it did not take form in 
 words quickly enough, for she went on : 
 
 " It is such a waste of your time." 
 
 He rose to the occasion : 
 
 " No time is wasted which is devoted to you," he 
 said most gallantly, and with his most ravishing 
 smile. 
 
 " Nonsense," laughed this most incomprehensi 
 ble of her sex. " It is all wasted, from your stand 
 point. You re a very nice boy, Tracey, and getting 
 over your youth very commendably. I am willing 
 to be your friend. But you must stop making love 
 to me. I fall out of love much more quickly than 
 I fall into it. Why, dear boy, I don t remain in love 
 long enough to serve the purpose of a single after 
 noon s gossip." 
 
 " Oh, I say, Mrs. Trevor-Allen," protested Tracey, 
 you do yourself such injustice, you know." 
 
 " Oh, no, dear boy," she exclaimed with a quizzi 
 cal twinkle in her dancing blue eyes, " but I am try- 
 ing to do you justice. I want to be your friend. 
 You see, Tracey, dear boy, while you are quite an 
 adept at love-making, you have not reached that 
 degree of perfection when you can make a woman 
 forget her marriage vows. Perhaps I am all very well 
 to practice on, but really, in view of the career you
 
 62 SHOULD SHE HA VE LEFT HIMt 
 
 have marked out for yourself, I think I can best 
 show my friendship by pointing out where you fail. 
 There is no success for you in a career of gallantry 
 until you learn to be earnest. It is like anything 
 else in life, you must be in in earnest to succeed 
 really in earnest you must really fall in love with 
 the object of your attack. You never loved me, 
 you know." 
 
 " Ah, now, Mrs. Trevor-Allen," stammered the 
 poor youth, " how can you say such cruel things, 
 after all my devotion ? " 
 
 " Because it is the truth. If you want to com 
 promise a woman, you must not only make her feel 
 that you love her, but you must, in fact, love her. 
 Whether she loves you, is immaterial; better for 
 your success that you sway her pride than her 
 affections. As a course of preparatory training 
 devote yourself to some single girl and fall seriously 
 in love with her, with a view to marriage." 
 
 " Oh, now, Mrs. Trevor-Allen," cried Tracey, 
 utterly disgusted with the advice, which if followed 
 would in his opinion take so much from his ton. 
 
 " Now there is Hilda Courtenay " 
 
 " Oh, she s gone," interrupted the young man. 
 
 " Gone ? What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Waldemar proposed last night and was accepted 
 on the jump by the whole family." 
 
 " lo triumphc /" cried the lady with a merry laugh. 
 M Dear Mamma Courtenay carries off the blue rib 
 bon again. Oh, the tears of all the rest ! " 
 
 " It s dead luck, isn t it?" asked Tracey, trying to
 
 MARRIAGE A LA MODE. 63 
 
 follow her humor. " She had a plater forced on 
 her in Trescotte, and he turned out to be a winner. 
 Now she s caught the first favorite in the pools." 
 
 Mrs. Trevor-Allen, repeating this technical charac 
 terization of Mrs. Courtenay s skill some hours later 
 to certain mortified matrons, as a succinct summing 
 up of the situation, rather than as an illustration of 
 the proper use of language, sweetly and innocently 
 added : 
 
 " Which makes it so difficult to understand 
 whether it is love or well-doing in manipulation 
 which is its own reward." 
 
 One of those perplexing remarks this perplexing 
 young woman was given to. It was on this occa 
 sion also that she gave that celebrated bit of advice 
 which was so admiringly quoted at the clubs the 
 next winter. Mrs. Huntington, with three mar 
 riageable daughters still in stock, after a brief period 
 of cogitation, emerged with the remark : 
 
 " Mrs. Courtenay has only one daughter left to 
 provide for." 
 
 " Pool your issues and divide the pot while the 
 game is in your hands," advised Mrs. Trevor- Allen. 
 "Priscilla Courtenay can t be chipped in for two 
 years yet. Mamma Courtenay, with her skill, will 
 be out of the game during that time. Tendre 
 <vos pariers^ les mesdames" 
 
 There are people who insist that they see a great 
 deal of satirical wit in that speech, but all it sug 
 gests to me is an acquaintance with poker, Monte 
 Carlo, and idiomatic French three things I detest
 
 64 SHOULD SHE HA VE LEFT HIMt 
 
 in women, especially the last, which I don t under 
 stand, and under the cover of which such disagree 
 able things are said I never know what until I get 
 home and study the dictionary. But then I m an 
 old fogy. 
 
 Dorothy learned of the engagement by letter 
 from her mother which reached her while she was 
 roaming about in the fullness of her own happy 
 honeymoon. Though she quickly detected the note 
 of triumph in her mother s letter, yet she was sad 
 dened by the news. So little of the true caste 
 spirit did she evince that she really fell into a medi 
 tation as to whether young Waldemar with his 
 habits was the sort of man to make the wedded life 
 of her sister happy. Dorothy was cursed with 
 ideas. But she wrote a very pretty letter of con 
 gratulation to Hilda, telling her her troth brought 
 new obligations to her life which she should study to 
 comprehend; and another quite as pretty to Walde 
 mar, whom she welcomed as a prospective brother-in- 
 law, lightly hinting that the peace, honor, and happi 
 ness of the fresh young life he was about to take 
 into his keeping could only be secured by strict 
 observance of the vows he would make at the altar 
 side. Mrs. Courtenay laughingly put these letters 
 away when they were given her to read with the 
 remark : 
 
 "What a dear, delightful prig of a daughter 
 Dorothy is!" 
 
 This was three weeks before the dreadful revela 
 tions at Saratoga.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AN ECCENTRIC HONEYMOON. 
 
 THE Courtenay-Waldemar engagement was no 
 longer a sensation in July. It was an accepted fact, 
 and society had turned to other considerations. 
 But a much greater sensation one which also 
 involved the Courtenay name was in preparation. 
 The first ripples of it were felt, curiously enough, by 
 those whose only connection with that world which 
 makes its habitat in Newport in the summer, is that 
 of servitors, caretakers of the city houses it had 
 abandoned for the season. 
 
 One morning in July these people were much 
 interested in a gray stone house in New York City, 
 the windows of which looked out upon Central Park, 
 and which had suddenly shown signs of life. It 
 was not so much because the house was occupied, 
 for it was current news in the neighborhood that it 
 had been purchased and richly furnished by Henry 
 Trescotte for the bride he had made in April, but 
 because it was opened in July rather than in Octo 
 ber, as was the understanding. 
 
 To enter a new house and put it upon a midwinter 
 scale, with stable in complete array, in the hot 
 summer month, when everybody who was anybody 
 
 65
 
 66 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 had fled the city, was, however satisfactory to the 
 grocer and the butcher, erratic. Those whose con- 
 tiguity gave them opportunity for observation, but 
 whose social rank made them uncertain as to aristo 
 cratic procedure, when they saw Mr. and Mrs. Tres- 
 cotte sauntering in the Park early in the morning, 
 and driving together in the afternoon, concluded 
 that it was fashion s new caprice as to the honey 
 moon. Of one thing, however, they were in no 
 doubt. A more loverlike husband than Mr. Tres- 
 cotte no woman could wish ; and the man who did 
 not adore the wife who received his attentions with 
 such tenderness did not deserve the woman who had 
 given her life to him. 
 
 But little recked Trescotte and Dorothy what 
 these people said or thought of them. It was 
 neither to set a new fashion nor to gratify curiosity 
 that they had deviated from the paths of convention. 
 When these two young people had determined to 
 their own satisfaction what their duty to themselves 
 and each other was, they set about considering what 
 sort of a life they would lead. It was in this dis 
 cussion that Trescotte made the discovery that in 
 the determination they had reached they had by no 
 means solved their problem. There was an ugly 
 factor, of which they had taken no heed that duty 
 the world and society demanded as their due. In 
 a moment of passionate exaltation they had sworn 
 devotion anew and had determined to live for each 
 other and each other alone, regardless of all opinions. 
 But Trescotte, his mind now restored to its normal
 
 AN ECCENTRIC HONEYMOON. 6? 
 
 activity, saw that society not only was powerful, but 
 had innumerable ways of punishing infractions of 
 the laws it made, whether just or not. 
 
 One thing was very clear to him. They must leave 
 the hotel and Saratoga before their peculiar position 
 became known. He knew, were that knowledge to 
 become public property, that Dorothy would be 
 subjected to the indignities of insolent curiosity and 
 malevolent gossip from those who now were ser 
 vile, even, in their efforts to secure her recognition 
 He did not falter in the course they had chosen ; he 
 felt neither remorse nor regret. Having cut the 
 strings by which tradition and conventionality had 
 bound him, when he first considered Dorothy s 
 future, he was brave in his determination to face 
 the world with her ; but it was with a full apprecia 
 tion of the spites and the cruelties of that world. 
 He saw, and without flinching, that his stout heart 
 and his strong right arm must ever be interposed 
 between Dorothy and the world s numberless ways 
 of insult. To shield her, to keep her even from 
 knowledge of them, was to be henceforth and always 
 the warfare of his life. He did not know to what 
 extent Magrane had spread the knowledge he had 
 acquired, nor how far malice might go in striking 
 it might even demand their retirement from the 
 hotel. All this he thought the while Dorothy was 
 nestled in his arms, content in the victory she had 
 won, and happy in the sacrifice she had made. 
 
 It seemed to him to be the wiser course to go 
 abroad for a few years, but when, after Dorothy
 
 68 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 had agreed to leave Saratoga at once, he made this 
 proposition, she firmly declared such a course to be 
 impossible. 
 
 " What we have agreed upon," she insisted, " was 
 so agreed because it seemed to us to be right the 
 only thing under the circumstances we could do. 
 If anybody is wrong it is not us, it is society the 
 world which, having made it possible for us to fall 
 into this position, would, under an arbitrary law of 
 its own making, punish us, who are innocent, by 
 separation. No ; if we go abroad, it will appear as 
 if we had fled from the consequences of an evil we 
 admitted. We must not confess what we do not 
 intend, by running away." 
 
 Trescotte yielded to the inexorable logic that 
 flight was confession. Moreover, he saw it was 
 cowardice, and against that his soul revolted. 
 Yet they must go somewhere, and the conditions 
 would be the same wherever they went. So singu 
 larly strong are the influences of custom and habit, 
 that it was with a start of surprise that he heard 
 Dorothy, who had partly divined his thoughts, 
 whisper: 
 
 " Let us go home." 
 
 It had not occurred to him that it was possible to 
 reside in New York City in the summer months. 
 
 Dorothy s suggestion was the solution of the diffi 
 culties, but not of the problem. 
 
 Mr. Magrane did not see Mr. Courtenay on the 
 night of his return to New York, nor for several days 
 thereafter. The Courtenay family were in Newport,
 
 AN ECCENTRIC HONEYMOON. 69 
 
 a fact he learned when he called at the residence, 
 and which Trescotte and Dorothy might hav*i told 
 him had they not forgotten it in their agitation. 
 Fearing, however, that they didn t know it, he tele 
 graphed Dorothy that night, and returned to his 
 snug bachelor quarters with the intention of writing 
 the story to Mr. Courtenay. But when he sat down 
 to do so he found difficulties. To merely inform 
 her father that Dorothy was living with a man not her 
 husband would be to convey false impressions ; and 
 to recite the circumstances in detail was to engage 
 upon more than one evening s labor, and his stenog 
 rapher was not at call. So he contented himself 
 with a letter which requested Mr. Courtenay to call 
 upon him, when that gentleman next visited New 
 York, with reference to a matter deeply concerning 
 his daughter, " now known as Mrs. Trescotte," clos 
 ing with the suggestion that were that visit made 
 immediately, all purposes would be best served. 
 
 Mr. Courtenay, on receiving this letter, condemned 
 all lawyers to perdition for their non-committal 
 ways and legal phraseology. 
 
 " They are never certain of anything these law 
 yers," he exclaimed, much irritated, as he threw the 
 letter across the breakfast table to his wife. " The 
 absurdity of that descriptive phrase, now know as 
 Mrs. Trescotte ! Bah ! Their caution in statement 
 amounts to insanity." 
 
 " But what does he want ? " asked Mrs. Courtenay, 
 more concerned about the business than the law 
 yer s way of presenting it.
 
 70 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 " Oh, something about property, I presume. 
 Trescotte has made over that new house to Dorothy, 
 through me. I ll go to the city in a few days. I 
 have other matters calling me there." Thus lightly 
 dismissing the letter, he addressed himself to his 
 coffee. 
 
 The same day that Mr. Courtenay received his 
 letter Mr. Magrane was notified that his telegram 
 was undelivered, " the party having left town." He 
 therefore concluded that Dorothy had gone to her 
 father, and that he was out of the affair, unless it 
 got into the courts. 
 
 When Dorothy "left town," she had gone with 
 Trescotte to Albany, and from thence to New York 
 on the following day. While she could not see 
 reason for such hasty departure from Saratoga, she 
 had not opposed it. Once in New York, and in her 
 own house, she was so busy organizing its internal 
 economy that she permitted several days to pass 
 before writing her mother of their sudden change 
 of plans. Mr. Courtenay, little impressed by Mr. 
 Magrane s letter, had deferred his journey to New 
 York from day to day, so that a week elapsed before 
 he saw that gentleman. Since Dorothy made no 
 mention of the momentous events which had sent 
 them to a residence in New York in midsummer, 
 the only effect of her letter on her mother was to 
 cause that good lady to condemn the eccentricity of 
 her daughter and son-in-law, and move her to write 
 to her husband, who had departed before Dorothy s 
 letter had been received, to call upon the young
 
 AN ECCENTRIC HONEYMOON. 7* 
 
 people and ascertain the meaning of their eccen 
 tricity. 
 
 Mr. Courtenay, by calling upon Mr. Magrant 
 before he heard from his wife, had learned of the 
 cause, though not of the eccentricity. When ha 
 was admitted to the lawyer s room the door was 
 carefully closed behind him. 
 
 " I presume you have heard all from your daugh- 
 ter," said Mr. Magrane gravely and sympathetically, 
 
 " Learned all from my daughter," repeated Mr. 
 Courtenay, much impressed by the lawyer s manner, 
 halting in his attempt to seat himself. " I have not 
 seen my daughter, sir, if you mean Mrs. Trescotte/ 7 
 
 "What?" exclaimed Mr. Magrane, much aston 
 ished. " Is she not under your care ? " 
 
 " Do you mean, sir, her husband has abandoned 
 her?" was Mr. Courtenay s indignant inquiry, 
 
 " No, no," hastily protested the lawyer. " You 
 are ignorant, then, of all that has occurred ? * 
 
 Dorothy s father was now thoroughly alarmed. 
 
 " Sir," he pleaded, " do not tell me she has for 
 gotten herself." 
 
 " No, no, no ! You misunderstand me ! "cried the 
 lawyer. " There is no wrong doing on either side 
 that is, intentionally." 
 
 Reassured on the only two points he believed to 
 be essential, Mr. Courtenay lost his temper and 
 
 demanded angrily : " D it, sir, what do you 
 
 mean, then ? Tell me at once, without this exasper 
 ating delay." 
 
 " It cannot be told in a sentence," answered the
 
 7* 
 
 lawyer, highly displeased. " Compose yourself 
 Take your seat," pointing to a chair. "You must 
 listen to a tale which will give you much pain." 
 
 Trembling with apprehension Mr. Courtenay sat 
 down. Without elaboration, Mr. Magrane in 
 lawyerlike way told the story. The old gentle 
 man could hardly wait for its conclusion to break 
 out into angry denunciation of Trescotte. 
 
 " That will not do," put in Magrane firmly and 
 severely. " Mr. Trescotte is unhappy enough, with- 
 out being unjustly blamed. He informed you of 
 the other affair when he asked for your daughter/ 
 
 " But he lied to me, sir, he lied to me, for he said 
 the other marriage was invalid," cried Mr. Courtenay. 
 
 " No ; he did not," returned Mr. Magrane very 
 coolly. " He told you the exact truth as he knew 
 it." 
 
 " I shall have him indicted for bigamy/ shouted 
 Mr. Courtenay. 
 
 " No, you will not." Mr. Magrane by his calm 
 manner was striving to cool the other. " A true 
 bill can never be found against him." 
 
 " I shall sue him for damages." 
 
 " And drag your family name into a rude public 
 scandal ? " 
 
 Mr. Magrane knew his man. This flash-light 
 picture of his family involved in a public scandal, to 
 be read of all the world, instantly quieted the old 
 aristocrat. The lawyer did not disturb him as he 
 was thinking. Slow of comprehension, and of 
 choleric temper, the superficial aspect of the com-
 
 AN ECCENTRIC HONEYMOON. 7.3 
 
 plication had presented itself, to the excitement of 
 his anger. But as the effect upon Dorothy s life 
 and reputation infiltrated his understanding, he was 
 overwhelmed with sorrow. Turning a distressed 
 face upon the lawyer, in a broken voice, he asked : 
 
 " What do you propose doing? " 
 
 " I have done all I propose to do," replied Mr. 
 Magrane. " All I was authorized to do was to 
 inform you. This I was requested to do by Mr. 
 Trescotte." 
 
 " Where is Trescotte ? * 
 
 "I don t know?" 
 
 " Where is my daughter? " 
 
 "I don t know. But as she left her husband, 
 under my advice, on the day I informed her of the 
 true state of affairs, and as she has not reached 
 your house, I imagine she is waiting in some obscure 
 place the result of my communication to you/ 
 
 " She must come home at once," stoutly declared 
 the father. " I must find her and take her home. 
 The poor stricken dear ! And she is innocent ! 
 She is blameless, sir, blameless ! " He added this in 
 a fierce tone, as if Mr. Magrane would combat it. 
 
 " No honest mind would say the contrary," calmly 
 replied the lawyer. 
 
 Rising from his chair, Mr. Courtenay leaned 
 heavily on his cane, as he stood over the lawyer, 
 and said : 
 
 " Poor Dorothy ! it is a bad mess. Her life is 
 mined at the outset." 
 
 A tear trickled down his face and was lost i his
 
 74 SHOULD SHE HA VE LEFT HIM? 
 
 carefully brushed white whiskers, which he shame 
 facedly wiped away with his fine white handkerchief. 
 
 " I am much to blame for not examining more 
 closely into that other affair," he said ; " but those 
 documents were so convincing, and 
 
 " Do not blame yourself," interrupted the lawyer, 
 " At that time investigation would only have con 
 firmed Mr. Trescotte s statement. To have with 
 held your consent " 
 
 Turning hopelessly from the lawyer, Mr. Courte- 
 nay with halting step left the room.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A BEWILDERED FATHER. 
 
 MR. COURTENAY returned to his club too much 
 disturbed to engage in other business. One 
 thought was uppermost ; he must find Dorothy and 
 take her home. But how ? She had disappeared 
 from sight ? leaving no means of communication 
 behind her. A mighty fear possessed him, crowd it 
 down as he might ; it was that Dorothy, in her dis 
 grace, had ended her life, and the thought of it 
 made him very bitter toward Trescotte. 
 
 On arriving at his club his wife s letter was 
 handed him. A hasty perusal assured him that 
 Dorothy was safe and, moreover, in New York. A 
 sentiment of grateful joy took the place of every 
 other emotion. He determined to go to Dorothy 
 without delay. It never occurred to him that Tres 
 cotte was with her. Had he read his wife s letter 
 with more care, he would have seen that Dorothy 
 and Trescotte were occupying the house together. 
 He had gathered the essential fact that his daugh 
 ter was safe and alive, and the fact, in the distracted 
 state he was in, was so important as to obscure all 
 other considerations, And had not Magrane told 
 him that Dorothy had left Trescotte immediately?
 
 ?6 SHOULD SHE HA VE LEFT HIM? 
 
 This statement, as we know, was an error. It was 
 not the purpose of the lawyer to mislead. When 
 informed that Dorothy had left town on the night 
 of the revelation, he leaped to the conclusion that 
 his advice had been followed. That Dorothy 
 should go to the house in New York did not seem 
 strange to her father. The house was hers, held in 
 her name, and he thought she naturally preferred 
 the seclusion it afforded to facing society, as she 
 must, were she to go to his home in Newport. 
 Indeed, he thought she was prompted by that 
 delicacy of discretion a daughter of Herbert Courte- 
 nay naturally would show. 
 
 When Dorothy came to him in the reception 
 room into which he had been shown by a neat lad 
 in livery, very satisfactory to his eye, critical in such 
 things, he greeted her with an effusive tenderness, 
 which was not his wont. He was not so unobserv 
 ant as to fail to note that Dorothy did not seem to 
 be utterly broken down with grief, but it was fleeting,, 
 this notice, all else was lost in the joy of finding her. 
 
 " My dear, dear daughter ! " he cried as he tenderly 
 embraced her. 
 
 Dorothy was much surprised at this greeting, so 
 unlike her father. When his card had been handed 
 her she had nerved herself for a storm of 
 reproaches and angry protests. She knew what 
 prejudices she was opposing, and that her father 
 was the embodiment of them all. Believing her 
 father to be fully informed of all the events, includ 
 ing her own determination not to be separated
 
 A BEWILDERED FATHER. 77 
 
 from Trescotte, she was led into the error of believ 
 ing that therefore the presence of her father in 
 that house, that is, the home of Trescotte and her 
 self, was in a measure approval of her course. 
 
 " You have heard all the story, then?" she asked. 
 
 " I have just come from Mr. Magrane," her 
 father replied. " My dear girl, my heart bleeds for 
 you. Had I only made an investigation ! I blame 
 myself so." 
 
 Dorothy checked him before he could say more. 
 
 " No," she protested. " Do not blame yourself. 
 No one is to blame no one at all can be blamed." 
 
 "Not even Trescotte?" exclaimed the old gentle 
 man, surprised, for he had expected condemnation 
 of him from her. 
 
 " No ; not my husband he, least of all." 
 
 " You are very generous, my dear ! " There was 
 the suggestion of a sneer in his tone, but faint as it 
 was Dorothy caught it. 
 
 " Not at all," she replied with increased spirit. 
 " Harry has acted most honorably and uprightly. 
 Why should he be blamed ? He was himself 
 deceived, and he made no attempt to deceive us, 
 or to conceal anything from us. Everybody who 
 knew anything of the affair believed as he did that 
 the previous marriage was no marriage." 
 
 Mr. Courtenay was bewildered. Dorothy seemed 
 to be more anxious to defend Trescotte from impu 
 tation than to bemoan her own fate. In fact, to 
 all outward appearances, she was not sorrowing at 
 all. She really seemed to be happy, cheerful, and
 
 78 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 contented. This certainly was confusing to a father 
 who had come prepared to find a daughter over 
 whelmed with grief, and hurling reproaches at him 
 for his failure to exercise proper protection of her. 
 
 " Where is Trescotte now? " he suddenly asked. 
 
 " He has gone a short distance. He will not be 
 long." 
 
 Mr. Courtenay stared at his daughter. Then in 
 his amazement he almost shouted his next question. 
 
 " He is not here living in this house ? " 
 
 The scales dropped from Dorothy s eyes. She 
 knew now that her father had heard nothing as 
 to their determination as to their future, but she 
 answered smilingly with another question : 
 
 " Did you suppose I was living here alone ? " 
 
 Mr. Courtenay was speechless. Dorothy con 
 tinued to ask questions. 
 
 " Did not mother tell you we had opened the 
 house ? I wrote her we had. Did not Mr. Magrane 
 tell you?" 
 
 " He told me you had left Trescotte," interrupted 
 her father, recovering somewhat from his confusion. 
 
 " He was mistaken," calmly replied Dorothy, 
 nerving herself for the storm. " He advised that 
 course, but did not give me sufficient reasons why I 
 should leave my husband." 
 
 Her father was in a fog. It was plain to see he 
 could not grasp the situation. His senses were 
 obscured. One thing only was plain to him the 
 one thing he had seen from the beginning. He 
 must take Dorothy home with him.
 
 A BEWILDERED FATHER. 79 
 
 He struggled to his feet, and said commandingly : 
 
 " Come ! " 
 
 " Where ? " asked Dorothy. 
 
 " With me. Home." 
 
 " This is my home." 
 
 She was calm, but firm and strong. Poor Mr. 
 Courtenay. He sank back into his chair helpless. 
 His mind had broken from its moorings and was 
 beginning to drift. He surely could not have 
 understood his daughter. 
 
 " Do you mean to say," he began, " that you 
 mean to live here, with this man with this Tres- 
 cotte who is not your husband ? " 
 
 " I mean to live here, of course," replied Dorothy, 
 her head very erect, " and with Mr. Trescotte, who 
 is my husband ?" 
 
 By this time the old gentleman s mind was out 
 in the current and at its mercy. He lay back in his 
 chair looking upon his daughter impotently. 
 
 " Do you mean to say," he asked feebly, " that 
 the story I have been told to-day is not true?" 
 
 " I believe it to be true, in every particular." 
 
 A gleam of hope lighted up Mr. Courtenay s 
 horizon. 
 
 "Trescotte has found a way to break these 
 bonds?" he exclaimed. 
 
 " Not that I am aware of." 
 
 He was drifting again. 
 
 "Then why do you call him your husband?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " Because he is my husband."
 
 So SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 This answer only confused the old gentleman the 
 more. He began to believe it a case beyond him, 
 and was devoutly wishing that her mother was with 
 him to understand this daughter who had always 
 been a puzzle to him, and never more than now. 
 He sat quite still trying to comprehend it all. 
 
 " Father," said Dorothy after a moment, having 
 waited for her father to speak, and perceiving that 
 now she must take the aggressive. " Father, while 
 you have been told of the discovery Mr. Adams 
 made a few months ago, you have not been told all. 
 And when I think of it, I don t know who could 
 have told you except my husband or myself. I will 
 tell you now." 
 
 Mr. Courtenay straightened himself into an atti 
 tude of attention. This incomprehensible thing 
 was to be made plain. Dorothy, with the color in 
 her face heightened and her eyes very bright, leaned 
 forward, and taking from the small table at her side 
 a fan, played with it as she gathered her thoughts. 
 Mr. Courtenay, closely observing her, thought that 
 with her brown hair, deep brown eyes, and clear 
 brown skin showing through the black lace of her 
 dress, she was in appearance a worthy daughter of 
 an especially favored race, whatever her conduct 
 might be. 
 
 " That day," she began, " when Mr. Magrane 
 told us of the distressing discovery, Harry and I 
 long discussed my duty." 
 
 " Your duty was to leave him at once ! " interjected 
 her father austerely.
 
 A BEWILDERED FATHER. 8 1 
 
 " Yes, that is what was the first thought," replied 
 Dorothy. " That is what Mr. Magrane said, and it 
 was what Harry had supposed I would do." 
 
 " And tried to persuade you from doing," again 
 interjected her father. 
 
 " You are much mistaken. He used neither per 
 suasion nor command. It was I who, having 
 thought it all out while Mr. Magrane was talking, 
 thought differently." 
 
 " You ? " Mr. Courtenay was aghast. 
 
 " Yes," continued Dorothy bravely. " If there is 
 anything wrong in my being here, I must be charged 
 with the wrong. But I do not believe there is. I 
 showed Harry that we were innocent of any wrong 
 doing ; that we had obeyed all the laws of man and 
 church ; that if we were in a false position, where 
 dishonor could be charged, it was not of our mak 
 ing. At the very worst it was our misfortune." 
 
 " Very true," acquiesced Mr. Courtenay, striving 
 hard to follow his daughter. 
 
 " I further showed him that the position was the 
 results of defect in the social system ; that though 
 we had scrupulously observed the laws and forms 
 society and church prescribed for us, we were not 
 protected from the failures of those forms and laws ; 
 that having failed, and we the victims thereof, both 
 society and church would punish me, the woman, 
 for having been the victim of its own shortcomings, 
 though I fled from him at once." 
 
 This was a little beyond the old gentleman s com 
 prehension. He struggled with the statement for a
 
 82 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 moment, for Dorothy seemed to be waiting for 
 some remark, and evolved finally : " There is always 
 sympathy for the unfortunate." 
 
 Dorothy resented the remark with something like 
 impatience. She knew it to be so untrue. But she 
 went on with her statement. 
 
 " Now church and law being responsible for our 
 position, and society inevitably punishing me for 
 being in the position, all the influences would be 
 for further punishment of us by separating us. So, 
 after looking the matter over carefully, we refused 
 to abandon our relations into which we had entered 
 under sanction of law and church, to refuse to per 
 mit a system, or two systems, which had once pro 
 nounced us man and wife, to withdraw their sanc 
 tion because of their own, not our, defects. We 
 determined for ourselves that Henry Trescotte was 
 still my husband, and that I, Dorothy, was still 
 the wife of Henry Trescotte. What God had put 
 together, we would not let any man put asunder." 
 
 Mr. Courtenay did not understand, but he was 
 horrified. 
 
 " This is blasphemous ! " he stammered. 
 
 "What is?" asked Dorothy argumentatively. 
 M That we refuse to be made victims of defects in 
 social and churchly laws?" 
 
 " It is blasphemous to talk so ! " cried Mr. Courte 
 nay, clinging to the word which seemed so apt. 
 
 * l I said churchly laws, father," said Dorothy, 
 " not holy laws, nor the laws of God. Those laws 
 were made by churchmen, therefore are human, and
 
 A BEWILDERED FATHER. 83 
 
 being human are imperfect. No, I am far from 
 being blasphemous, for I defy you to find in all of 
 God s Word condemnation of our course." 
 
 This was getting into the realm of metaphysics, 
 where the old gentleman had never ventured, and 
 where now he refused to follow ; he knew that 
 Dorothy s position was opposed to all his teachings, 
 and so he sprang from his seat angrily. " Enough 
 of this ! " he cried. " Will you come with me ? " 
 
 " I will not leave my husband." 
 
 The issue was clearly made. The old man bowed 
 his head and walked unsteadily to the door. Then, 
 suddenly, as if a new thought had occurred to him, 
 he turned quickly and bent upon Dorothy a swift 
 and searching look. She had risen and was stand 
 ing in the center of the small room, looking after 
 him sadly. 
 
 " I see I see how it is," he said as he went back 
 to her, taking her hand. " Truly, you have had 
 trouble enough to have unsettled a stronger reason. 
 Good-by, child." 
 
 He kissed her, adding : 
 
 " You will see me again soon, and then I shall bring 
 someone with me, who, I hope, can do you good." 
 
 He went out of the house hurriedly. 
 
 Mr. Courtenay had not been long gone when 
 Trescotte returned. He found Dorothy still in the 
 reception room, not a little sad over the interview 
 with her father. She told Trescotte of her father s 
 call, his demand that she should go with him, her 
 refusal, and her father s remark on leaving.
 
 84 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 " He meant that he would send mamma to me, 
 she concluded. " Well, I hope he will, and soon. 
 The visit of mother is the only ordeal I dread, and I 
 want it over, so that we can settle into our regular 
 and happy life." 
 
 They embraced each other tenderly, forgetting 
 that servants were in the way, and Dorothy went to 
 prepare for her afternoon s ride. About the time 
 she stepped into that new Brewsters, drawn by that 
 wonderful pair of hackneys which were the admira 
 tion of the neighborhood, her father was sending a 
 dispatch to her mother, demanding her coming to 
 New York without an hour s delay.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A DIPLOMATIC MOTHER. 
 
 MRS. COURTENAY complied with her husband s 
 imperative demand. The demand, however, did not 
 put her in an amiable frame of mind. It did not 
 seem proper that one of her rank and social im 
 portance should be subject to the calls of such a 
 modern, " hustling " thing as the telegraph. A 
 letter by mail would have been more decorous, even 
 if there had been thereby a sacrifice of time. She 
 knew of nothing in their affairs demanding such 
 vulgar haste. Nor was it proper that she should 
 travel alone. Since her marriage she had never been 
 on cars or steamers unaccompanied by her husband. 
 However, she overcame the latter objection by 
 taking her maid with her, and her husband s valet, 
 who was conveniently married to that maid. Then, 
 so unsatisfactory is the telegraph, she neither knew 
 the meaning of her journey nor the duration of her 
 stay. Consulting Hilda, that young woman, wise in 
 her generation, said : " Go prepared for anything." 
 So Mrs. Courtenay, within four hours after the time 
 she had received her husband s telegram, was en 
 route for New York with five trunks, two servants, 
 
 85
 
 86 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 and a severe countenance threatening an uncomfort 
 able meeting to Mr. Courtenay. 
 
 The hour was early when she reached New York, 
 but Mr. Courtenay was at the station to meet her. 
 What fund of remark she had stored up for her 
 husband s profit and pleasure was forgotten in the 
 first glance she gave him. His face told her that 
 the business which had caused her hurried journey 
 was serious, and her presence necessary. 
 
 " What is it ? " she whispered after her hasty kiss 
 of salutation, a fear of loss of property possessing 
 her. 
 
 " I cannot tell you here," he answered. " Let 
 Dawson look after the luggage. We ll hurry to the 
 hotel." 
 
 " Is it loss of money? " 
 
 " Oh, Lord, no ! " replied her husband. " But 
 you must wait ; it is too delicate a matter to talk of 
 in public places." 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay was compelled to exercise her 
 patience, but when the privacy of their room was 
 reached she dismissed her maid and demanded to 
 be informed. 
 
 She was astonished, distressed, but not over 
 whelmed, as the story was unfolded to her. Social 
 position was not lost ; that, a hurried review assured 
 her. She was somewhat alarmed as to the effect the 
 revelation might have upon the Courtenay- Walde- 
 mar engagement, and she saw the possible necessity 
 of careful treatment to prevent a rupture of the 
 most brilliant match of the season.
 
 A DIPLOMATIC MOTHER. 87 
 
 It must not be thought that she gave no heed to 
 Dorothy s position, and that she was not saddened 
 over her daughter s plight. But Mrs. Courtenay 
 was not a common woman. She was like the com- 
 mander of an army in battle coming upon the field 
 after his troops had been engaged and had sus 
 tained slight reverses like Sheridan at Cedar Creek, 
 for instance. Does anyone suppose that, arriving on 
 the field, that great soldier did not in one searching, 
 sweeping glance assure himself of what had not been 
 lost, before he addressed himself to repairing the 
 damage inflicted by the enemy ; that he did not de 
 tect in that rapid comprehension the possibilities of 
 weakness in the points in the line where all seemed 
 strong ? Similarly did Mrs. Courtenay survey her 
 field of battle. Before she began a serious discus 
 sion of Dorothy s position, she rapidly summed up 
 what was not lost and what must be guarded to pre 
 vent being lost by the reverse sustained. She even 
 stopped to upbraid her husband for his stupidity in 
 not making a rigid investigation into that other mar 
 riage affair, and his turpitude in withholding knowl 
 edge of it from her. But however willing Mr. 
 Courtenay had been to heap reproaches on his 
 own head, or to rest meekly under those of his 
 daughter, as he had intended, should she have re 
 proached him, he was not content to hear a single 
 word of rebuke from his wife, and made that so 
 apparent that she desisted. 
 
 " Dorothy must immediately go home with us," 
 was her conclusion, after she had grasped and
 
 88 SHOULD SHE HA VE LEFT HIM f 
 
 digested the situation. " It is the only thing she 
 can do. If she remains with Trescotte her reputa 
 tion will be lost, and there will be no hope for her 
 social rehabilitation." 
 
 "Is there any now?" hopelessly asked the 
 father. 
 
 " Perhaps not at once," hesitatingly replied the 
 lady. " But when we have made the true story 
 known with our color of it, and, with the great 
 influence our two families, with all their connections, 
 can exert, it will be accomplished in time. Un 
 less " she added hastily, and then stopping with 
 
 an anxious frown upon her face she lost herself in 
 deep thought. 
 
 "What is the unless?" finally asked Mr. Courte- 
 nay, tired of waiting for his wife to emerge. 
 
 " Nothing, nothing," replied that lady nervously, 
 as she roused herself. " Order the breakfast, Her 
 bert. I m famished. Afterward, I will go to 
 Dorothy. While I am gone you can arrange for 
 another apartment for her here. I shall bring her 
 back with me." 
 
 " I don t think you will," replied her husband, as 
 he crossed the room to touch the electric bell. " She 
 seems determined to remain with Trescotte in spite 
 of all." 
 
 Resuming his seat, he gave to his wife an inter 
 pretation of Dorothy s argument of the previous 
 day an interpretation which his daughter assuredly 
 would have repudiated. It was far from his inten 
 tion to misrepresent Dorothy s views, but as it was
 
 A DIPLOMATIC MOTHER. 89 
 
 his understanding of them, it gave his wife an 
 erroneous impression, 
 
 " Why, she is positively blasphemous! " exclaimed 
 that lady, much horrified. 
 
 " That s what I told her," said Mr. Courtenay. 
 much pleased to find his view sustained by his wife, 
 and by the same word. 
 
 "The troubles must have turned her head," con 
 tinued the lady. 
 
 " There ! " cried the old gentleman energetically. 
 " Now we are down to the practical consideration. 
 There is the reason why I thought it necessary to 
 send for you so hurriedly. I think she should be 
 immediately visited by specialists." 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay stared at her husband dumbly. 
 Her own remark was a mere figure of speech. 
 
 " You see," continued the husband, " you can t 
 account for the position Dorothy has taken upon 
 any other ground. She insists that she is wholly 
 responsible for her determination not to be sep 
 arated from Trescotte. He, in the very beginning, 
 concluded that she would leave him, and she insists 
 it was she who persuaded him to the other view. 
 Now, when you find a girl like Dorothy, brought up as 
 she has been, carefully guarded against radical and 
 destructive ideas, a Courtenay, into whose blood is 
 blended that of the Van Aliens, both families having 
 centuries of conservatism behind them, deliberately 
 entertaining and acting upon such views as Dorothy 
 expresses, why there is only one conclusion to reach 
 her reason is dethroned temporarily, however,
 
 9 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM I 
 
 for there is insanity neither in the blood of the Van 
 Aliens, nor the Courtenays." 
 
 The summoned waiter appeared and received his 
 order, the while Mrs. Courtenay went into another 
 brown study. Possibly her husband had given the 
 explanation of Dorothy s strange course, and 
 wouldn t that be the best excuse for withdrawal for 
 a while ? 
 
 " Well," she said aloud, more in answer to her 
 own thoughts than as addressing her husband. " I ll 
 have a talk with her first. After that, perhaps it will 
 be well to have Dr. Balkin see her." 
 
 Dr. Balkin was the family physician, much trusted 
 and respected by Mrs. Courtenay very skillful, very 
 brusque, and given to plain speech, whether the 
 same was agreeable or not. Dorothy was a great 
 favorite with the old doctor, and had been from 
 girlhood. 
 
 " Why wouldn t it be better for Dorothy to come 
 to us here ? " asked Mrs. Courtenay. 
 
 "It would," returned her husband, "but she 
 won t come if sent for. No, my dear, call upon her 
 first and form your judgment. I think it will coin 
 cide with mine." 
 
 Breakfast over Mrs. Courtenay lost no time in 
 going to Dorothy. The Trescotte mansion, for 
 such it was, pleased her. She could not but admit 
 that it would be desperately hard to give up such 
 a house. She could not call to her memory any 
 house of her acquaintance more perfect in its 
 appointments, more richly, yet tastefully furnished,
 
 A DIPLOMATIC MOTHER. gi 
 
 and about which there was an atmosphere of 
 greater refinement or more elegant luxury. When, 
 in the broad spacious hall, on her way to Dorothy s 
 boudoir, whither she had been summoned, she 
 encountered Downs, the old Trescotte major-domo 
 whom she had known since girlhood, she knew that 
 the service was as near perfection as human skill 
 could make it, and there was a feeling of pride she 
 could not suppress as she returned the deferential 
 yet self-respectful salutation of Downs. These old 
 servants are the American patents of nobility. 
 
 If Mrs. Courtenay anticipated an easy victory 
 over her daughter she was doomed to disappoint 
 ment. Dorothy s greeting of her mother was 
 warmly affectionate. She cried a little as she laid 
 her head upon her mother s ample bosom. But 
 it was from nervousness and affection, not from 
 sorrow or a sense of shame. She had sat a long 
 time with Trescotte the previous night, traversing 
 the whole affair, and had retired stronger in her 
 determination not to let the world and society ruin 
 her life, and more confirmed in her conviction that 
 the course chosen was the right one, and not in 
 contravention of moral laws rightly considered, 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay soon discovered that the woman 
 "now known as Mrs. Trescotte," as Mr. Magrane 
 had put it, w r as a different person from the girl 
 who had left her with a tender, clinging kiss, redo 
 lent of orange blossoms. There was a passing 
 premonition that her task was not as easy as it 
 appeared at the breakfast table.
 
 92 SHOULD SHE HAV T E LEFT HIM? 
 
 Diplomacy is assumption and presumption. We 
 assume that there is no other view of the subject 
 we are about to discuss than the one we maintain, 
 and presume that this is conceded by the other side. 
 Mrs. Courtenay was a social and domestic diplomat. 
 She made her first move in accordance with the 
 laws of the game. She met with an immediate 
 check. Dorothy conceded nothing. Indeed she 
 was positive there were other views than those 
 entertained by her mother, which, though not held 
 by everybody, were, nevertheless, based on truth and 
 good morals. The issue was joined in the begin 
 ning. Mrs. Courtenay, with all the force she could 
 summon and the ingenuity she could command, 
 made a presentment of the conventionalities. 
 Dorothy met it with the arguments she employed 
 with Mr. Magrane, Trescotte, and her father, per 
 haps with a little more skill, because they were now 
 a little more familiar to her lips and vocabulary. 
 In vain did Mrs. Courtenay plead that morality was 
 opposed to Dorothy s course. For each statement 
 the daughter had an answer, and for each argument 
 a counter one. It is not for me to say on which 
 side lay the logic, but if sophistry was Dorothy s 
 weapon it was effective against logic in her mother s 
 hands. Mrs. Courtenay beaten, if not convinced, 
 retired from the discussion of the moral aspect and 
 addressed herself to the social, where she thought, 
 as she had a right, she was invincible, since she was 
 a leader in forming social la ;vs and customs. When 
 she presented to Dorothy the fact that she could
 
 A DIPLOMATIC MOTHEK. 93 
 
 not remain in her present relations without falling 
 under the condemnation of society, Mrs. Courtenay 
 imagined that she had presented the all-powerful 
 argument, for she could not imagine happiness, much 
 less existence, under such a condition. And on this 
 point she pressed her daughter hard, bringing all her 
 artillery to bear with practiced skill and great knowl 
 edge. Then suddenly up rose Dorothy and con 
 founded her mother with a simple statement of 
 fact, but, oh, how important and far extending in 
 its consequences. 
 
 " Mother," she said, turning and turning her 
 marriage ring, which she wore to the exclusion of 
 all other rings, that it might be the more con 
 spicuous, " this is the crisis of my life the one 
 great crisis of all my life, and I must look to myself 
 selfishly. I know the swift condemning world will 
 say that the course I am pursuing is not moral. 
 But it will say so in ignorance. I refuse to sacrifice 
 myself and my happiness to such ignorance. But 
 whether I do or do not yield to its demand, the result 
 is the same to me. It will ostracize me in either 
 event. So it is for me to choose whether I will 
 accept ostracism without happiness, or ostracism 
 with happiness. I have chosen. That is all." 
 
 " But I deny that ostracism will be the result of 
 this misfortune," exclaimed her mother, and then 
 weakened her denial by adding, " that is, an 
 ostracism we cannot in time overcome." 
 
 Dorothy turned to her mother a hallowed face, 
 sanctified by such exquisite tenderness and sublime
 
 94 SHOULD SHE HA VE LEFT HIM? 
 
 love that her brown eyes were deepened Into 
 black soft, lustrous black. 
 
 " Ah, mother, you do not understand. Could 
 you present to your world the same girl Dorothy 
 Courtenay was that day when she left her girl 
 home for the last time, perhaps you might. Mar- 
 riage is transformation. Dorothy Courtenay has 
 passed away. She no longer exists." 
 
 She rose from her seat, and twining her arms 
 about her mother s neck in the way Mrs. Courtenay 
 remembered so well of old, said in a sweet low voice : 
 
 " And can Mrs. Herbert Courtenay, even, plead 
 for the social position of a daughter, who by flying 
 to her father s home admits she is not a wife, yet 
 who bears in her arms the evidence she should be? 
 A life is quickening a dear little, human life, and 
 the crown of motherhood, is making ready for me." 
 
 Oh, divine motherhood! Oh, the divine mother 
 love that silver cord, which draws all mother hearts 
 together into the bonds of common sympathy. 
 Forgotten the world and society, forgotten the 
 pride of rank and, the ambitions of caste, forgotten 
 the splitting of moral hairs, in that precious moment 
 when, impulse and affection taking sway, Dorothy 
 found herself in her mother s arms.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 CHANGING THE TACTICS. 
 
 IF confounded, Mrs. Courtenay was not dismayed. 
 The knowledge which Dorothy had imparted, while 
 it had drawn forth an unusual exhibition of sym 
 pathy and affection, did not in the slightest degree 
 lessen Mrs. Courtenay s determination to effect a 
 separation. Though appeals to Dorothy s womanly 
 pride, social ambition, and moral sense had failed, 
 other means, indirect, if needs be, must be em 
 ployed. The task of bringing Dorothy to her 
 senses, which had seemed so easy as she lingered 
 over the breakfast table, in the effort was difficult. 
 Sitting in the dainty boudoir of her daughter, she 
 was conscious she had been repulsed in the first 
 attack, and with the loss of some guns. Like the 
 prudent general she was, she determined to with- 
 draw from the field while she could do so safely, 
 reform her lines, and with strengthened forces re 
 new the attack. 
 
 A wrong would be done Mrs. Courtenay if she 
 were not credited with an earnest desire to rescue 
 her daughter from a life which she believed could 
 not be other than doubtful and blameworthy a 
 desire based in sincere affection. That Dorothy 
 
 95
 
 9<* SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 should leave Trescotte and endure a life of seclu 
 sion, simply because it was right for her to do so, 
 was firmly fixed in her mind, and if she had not 
 been successful in impressing that idea upon 
 Dorothy, her daughter had been no less unsuccess 
 ful in enforcing her contrary opinions. She felt 
 that the right was with her and that, if she could not 
 make Dorothy see it, the bishop could. If, in her 
 arguments, she had mixed the moral with the 
 social code, and had made ethics and society s 
 opinions interchangeable terms, it was only because 
 of her own peculiar education. But it must be 
 admitted that she was greatly concerned as to the 
 influence to be exerted upon her own social stand 
 ing by the knowledge that one of her daughters 
 was, in fact, living as a wife outside the legal bonds 
 of wedlock; the influence upon Hilda s contem 
 plated marriage with Waldemar ; upon the daughter 
 who was to come out two years hence ; and upon 
 the son who had graduated at Harvard that sum 
 mer, and who would enter society the coming 
 winter. Dorothy, notwithstanding the misfortune 
 which had befallen her, in her father s home, with 
 drawn from society, might be an object of sym 
 pathy, even of avoidance, but she would not 
 be a reproach to the family, which she certainly 
 would be were she to continue her relations with 
 Trescotte. 
 
 When Mrs. Courtenay touched upon this phase 
 of the question she made more of an impression 
 upon Dorothy than she was aware. Had she
 
 CHANGING THE TACTICS. 97 
 
 known how much, doubtless she would have 
 dilated at length upon it, but as it was, she said 
 enough to send Dorothy into weighing the duty she 
 owed Trescotte against that which she owed her 
 family. And so no conclusion was reached on 
 either side that is, that was accepted by the other. 
 Mrs. Courtenay refused to receive as conclusive 
 Dorothy s expressed determination to remain with 
 Trescotte, and Dorothy refused to accept as con 
 clusive, her mother s assertion that it was her duty 
 to return to her father s house. 
 
 All the time this discussion was going forward 
 Trescotte sat in the library making futile efforts to 
 read the book in his hands. His thoughts con 
 stantly reverted to the sweet little woman above 
 him going through the ordeal she had so much 
 dreaded, and who was battling for the right to re 
 main in companionship with him. He would gladly 
 have taken this burden upon his own shoulders, but 
 he knew that his presence would but increase her 
 difficulties, and for the sake of her own future 
 happiness with him, she must battle to the end, un 
 influenced by him, or by any appearance of coercion 
 on his part. As sad and heart-breaking as separa 
 tion would be to him now, he yet felt that if there 
 was a lingering doubt in Dorothy s mind as to the 
 course she was pursuing, and if she could therefore 
 be swayed and influenced by the appeals now being 
 made to her, it were better for both of them that 
 she should yield now. If she did not, and passed 
 through the ordeal yet firm and staunch in her
 
 9 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 determination, then he himself would be firmer in 
 his o\vn purpose. He therefore awaited the issue 
 most impatiently. 
 
 Dorothy had asked her mother if she would see 
 Trescotte, but Mrs. Courtenay declined, and with 
 more bitterness than she had shown before in the 
 interview, and took her leave promising Dorothy 
 she would see her again in a short time. 
 
 Dorothy, seeking her husband upon her mother s 
 departure, faithfully reported the interview and con 
 cluded with the opinion : 
 
 " Now that it is over and the ordeal I dreaded so 
 much is passed, we may settle down and live our 
 lives untroubled." 
 
 But Trescotte was far from satisfied that the end 
 was reached. He thought he knew Mrs. Courtenay 
 too well not to know that, desiring an end, she 
 would not abandon the desire after only one at 
 tempt. And Trescotte was right. 
 
 One thing had been settled to Mrs. Courtenay s 
 satisfaction : Dorothy s reason was as firmly seated 
 as it ever had been. She told her husband so, but 
 he was loath to let go his opinion, and urged that 
 Dr. Balkin should be asked to see his daughter. 
 
 "Very well," acquiesced Mrs. Courtenay, "it will 
 do no harm and something may come from it. The 
 doctor is very fond of Dorothy and she of him. 
 He may exert an influence her father and mother 
 have failed to do." 
 
 She had yielded to her husband s urgency the 
 more readily, because the visit of Dr. Balkin would
 
 CHANGING THE TACTICS. 99 
 
 not interfere with the plan she had formed while 
 talking with Dorothy. 
 
 " My dear," she said, addressing her husband who 
 had taken his hat and was now searching for his 
 gloves, " put your hat down and listen to me, I 
 have something of importance to say to you." 
 
 The old gentleman replaced his hat and taking a 
 chair sat down opposite his wife, remarking : 
 
 " To get Dorothy under treatment as soon as pos 
 sible is of the first importance." 
 
 " Dorothy is as sane as you and I," replied his 
 wife shortly. " And that will be Dr. Balkin s opin 
 ion. What is of the first importance is to separate 
 Dorothy and Trescotte. And this must be done 
 quietly. She will not leave him of her own motion; 
 she will not now consent to leave him. We cannot 
 seize her, abduct her, or kidnap her, nor can we 
 appeal to the courts for her custody. All these 
 methods would result in a public scandal, the thing 
 of all things we must avoid. We have failed in 
 pleadings, persuasions, and commands. Now, what 
 are we to do?" 
 
 " Upon my word I don t know," answered the 
 much-perplexed father. 
 
 " We must go to Buffalo," said his wife decidedly. 
 
 " Go to Buffalo ? " asked the old gentleman, in 
 sudden doubt as to his wife s sanity. 
 
 " Yes, to Buffalo," repeated Mrs. Courtenay, much 
 pleased with the impression she had made, and 
 the importance of her communication. " Buffalo 
 is the place where that person Mr. Trescotte
 
 100 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 married in Switzerland resides. She is the wife of 
 Trescotte." 
 
 "Yes, most unfortunately; for if she were not, 
 Dorothy would be, beyond dispute." 
 
 " It is her duty to claim Trescotte as her husband, 
 and insist upon a home with him." Mrs. Courtcnay 
 narrowly watched the effect of her words upon her 
 husband, but he was slow in comprehending her 
 meaning. 
 
 " But, my dear, people, as we have evidence, do 
 not always do their duty," he answered. 
 
 " She is evidently a person of very ordinary origin, 
 and doubtless could be made to see her duty in the 
 proper light," Mrs. Courtenay continued. 
 
 " Possibly, possibly," rejoined the old gentleman, 
 very much in the dark, but having profound confi 
 dence in his wife. 
 
 " Of that grade which is struggling always for 
 recognition from the upper classes, she undoubtedly 
 will be very glad to secure a husband of Mr. Tres- 
 cotte s rank in the social scale." 
 
 " She did not seem so very anxious eight or 
 nine years ago, when she gladly left Trescotte for 
 Adams," argued the husband, with a slight touch of 
 humor. 
 
 " She was very young then, her head doubtless 
 filled with romance too young to fully realize the 
 advantages of the connection she had made. Be 
 sides, she is abandoned by that man Adams, or 
 did she abandon him ? It is immaterial ; they are 
 apart."
 
 CHANGING THE TACTICS. ioi 
 
 " Well, granting all this, what do we secure by 
 it?" asked Mr. Courtenay, who had been vainly 
 striving to grasp the meaning of his wife. 
 
 " I am surprised at your dullness, Herbert. If she 
 makes that demand Trescotte will be compelled to 
 heed it ; if she demands maintenance he must give 
 it ; if she demands care and protection, he must give 
 both. She will be asking no more than the law 
 gives her the right to ask, and he must yield." 
 
 " And still I cannot see what good that will do 
 us." The old gentleman was still groping in the 
 dark. 
 
 " Why, Herbert," cried his wife, " I m quite im 
 patient with you ! Do you suppose that Dorothy, 
 high-spirited Dorothy, would remain for one mo 
 ment with a man who would thus acknowledge the 
 existence of another wife ? At present she is in 
 some incomprehensible, exalted condition of mind 
 that persuades her that she is a sacrificing martyr to 
 love and duty. A woman having superior claims as 
 a wife, visibly present, would bring her down from 
 heaven to earth most rapidly, and send her home 
 with speed." 
 
 "Great Heavens!" cried her husband, fairly 
 startled by the boldness and originality of the plan. 
 " You would not send her to Trescotte s house to 
 live there ? " 
 
 " To take possession as her right to sit at the head 
 of his table as is her right." 
 
 The old gentleman was aghast. 
 
 " Now," continued Mrs. Courtenay, enthusiastic
 
 102 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM* 
 
 in her plan, "go to Mr. Magrane at once. Get the 
 address of these people, and we will leave for 
 Buffalo to-night." 
 
 " To-night ? " Mr. Courtenay stared in astonish 
 ment at his wife ; her energy compelled his warmest 
 admiration. 
 
 " Yes, to-night. We cannot afford to delay in so 
 important a matter." 
 
 Partaking of his wife s energy and enthusiasm, the 
 old gentleman labored so zealously that the hour 
 which usually found him dining leisurely saw himself 
 and wife that night rolling rapidly toward that Queen 
 City sitting at the gate of the Lakes.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 PLANS THAT FAIL. 
 
 IF, in the contemplation of the plan she had 
 evolved, and which she had traveled to Buffalo to 
 execute, Mrs. Courtenay relied on the belief that 
 the lady, " now known as Mrs. Adams," to use Mr. 
 Magrane s phrase, would be open to the blandish 
 ments of the elegancies and luxuries of life, fine 
 houses, and all the other things concomitant of 
 wealth, she must have sustained a severe shock of 
 surprise when she drew up in front of the Hallock 
 residence. 
 
 As she was driven up that noble thoroughfare 
 one of the finest in all the States Delaware 
 Avenue, she had noted with wonder, and with that 
 resentment we cockneys of New York are prone 
 to feel when we see evidences of wealth and 
 fashion elsewhere than in our own city, the many 
 fine residences with spacious and well-kept grounds 
 about them. But when the horses were suddenly 
 swung from the street to a broad graveled 
 road which wound through extensive grounds, 
 embracing the entire square, in the center of which 
 stood a building of pretentious architecture and 
 imposing dimensions, with wide verandas, porte 
 
 103
 
 104 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 cocktre, spacious conservatories, the mere occupancy 
 of which argued ample means, a large doubt as to 
 the success of her enterprise took possession of her. 
 She comforted herself, however, as she rang the 
 bell, with the thought that wealth was not always, 
 especially in these new cities, the assurance of social 
 position and fine feeling. 
 
 If, as Mrs. Courtenay supposed, the Hallock 
 family did not possess social position, it certainly 
 had knowledge of those who did, for Mrs. Her 
 bert Courtenay s card was recognized as that of one 
 of society s brightest lights, and carried much won 
 derment as to the meaning of its presentation. 
 Since the daughter of that house had, for a brief 
 period, borne the name of the gentleman who was 
 now the son-in-law of the lady presenting the card, 
 perhaps after all it is not singular that it was 
 quickly recognized. 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay, sitting in the large reception 
 room, admitting its superiority to her own, noting 
 with critical eye the undoubted evidence of a keen 
 and discriminating taste in its adornment, and argu 
 ing, thereupon, the possession of that quality by the 
 inmates, thought that if she were not within and 
 her husband without, in the carriage at the door, 
 she would gladly retire from an enterprise which, 
 the further she entered into it, seemed more and 
 more doubtful. By and by there came to her a 
 young woman not yet out of her twenties, appro 
 priately and becomingly gowned, of winning pres 
 ence, on whose face there were traces of trouble
 
 PLANS THAT FAIL. 105 
 
 trouble that had chastened and refined, not hardened 
 it. In a low and gentle tone she said in simple 
 salutation : 
 
 "Mrs. Courtenay?" 
 
 " Mrs. Adams, I presume," replied Mrs. Courte 
 nay, rising. 
 
 As the younger lady begged the older one to 
 remain seated she took another chair herself. Mrs. 
 Courtenay, to her extreme annoyance, felt embar 
 rassed. This young woman was guilty of the bad 
 taste of being diametrically the opposite of what 
 Mrs. Courtenay had determined she was. Instead 
 of being loud and aggressive, she was gentle and 
 retiring; instead of possessing a flaunting and flam 
 boyant handsomeness, her beauty was delicate and 
 refined ; instead of being a vulgar young person, 
 she was ladylike, self-contained and self-possessed. 
 Mrs. Courtenay s premises were all wrong; but she 
 was in for it, and she went at her business much as 
 Taurus goes at a red gate. 
 
 " I have come to you," she began, " on a matter 
 deeply concerning our two families." 
 
 This coupling of the known Courtenay family 
 with the unascertained Hallock family was 
 intended to be conciliatory, but the air and tone 
 of condescension spoiled the effect. 
 
 " Yes ? " inquiringly replied the younger lady, 
 intuitively feeling that the five months as Mrs. 
 Trescotte, which had spoiled her domestic peace, 
 was the matter. 
 
 " You may not be aware," continued Mrs. Courte-
 
 106 SHOULD SHE HA VE LEFT HIM ? 
 
 nay very graciously, " that last April my eldest 
 daughter married Mr. Henry Trescotte?" 
 
 " Yes," Mrs. Adams replied readily, " I knew of it 
 at the time. Surely," she suddenly asked, " Mr. 
 Trescotte did not fail to acquaint you at the time 
 of the other marriage ? " 
 
 " Mr. Trescotte," said Mrs. Courtenay severely, 
 impelled by a stern sense of justice, "informed my 
 husband and my daughter before the engagement, 
 and produced documents signed by you, Mr. 
 Adams, your father, and mother, to the end that 
 there was a previous marriage of yourself, but 
 claiming it to be invalid." 
 
 The younger woman, with heightened color, arose, 
 threw open a window, and handing a fan to the 
 older one, returned to her seat, saying : " It is only 
 what I would expect of so honorable a gentleman 
 as Mr. Trescotte." 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay inferred from this remark that 
 Mr. Trescotte was not regarded with enmity by 
 Mrs. Adams, but rather held in respect. She hesi 
 tated to think what bearing this might have upon 
 her intended proposition. Arriving at no conclu 
 sion she went on : 
 
 " May I ask I do not mean to give offense 
 when did you last see Mr. Adams?" 
 
 Mrs. Adams, quickly suppressing the start the 
 abrupt question caused, the color on her cheeks 
 deepening, answered: 
 
 " A year ago, nearly ; Mr. Adams has been on 
 the Pacific Coast on professional business." Then.
 
 PLANS THA T FAIL. 1OJ 
 
 with some hesitation, she added : " I shall not con 
 ceal from you that we are living apart. The fact, 
 however, is not public. The world thinks I am at 
 my father s house during my husband s absence." 
 
 " I had so understood," remarked the elder lady 
 dryly. 
 
 Mrs. Adams looked up surprised, pain plainly 
 visible. 
 
 " You had so understood ? " she repeated. 
 
 " The knowledge is not general," Mrs. Courtenay 
 hastened to assure the young lady. " It was com 
 municated to us by our lawyer, who is also the 
 lawyer of Mr= Adams." 
 
 " Lawyer ? " cried Mrs. Adams, much agitated. 
 There was so much that was pathetic in her appeal 
 to her visitor, that the older lady felt a wave of 
 sympathy sweep over her, though she had been 
 so disappointed. 
 
 " Mr. Adams does not intend to sue for divorce? 
 Oh, the shame of it ! " 
 
 The wave of sympathy was transitory and the 
 older lady relentlessly pursued her point. 
 
 " There is no need of divorce proceedings." 
 
 " No need ? " wonderingly asked Mrs. Adams. 
 " I do not comprehend you." 
 
 " I am sure, my dear Mrs. Adams, I do not want 
 to shock you too much," said Mrs. Courtenay, 
 dreading to reveal the fact, yet anxious to get it 
 over that she might come to the point which was 
 her concern. " I beg, my dear, you will prepare 
 yourself for a revelation which, while it may dis-
 
 108 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 tress you, is by no means as bad as it will at first 
 appear. You know that every cloud has a -- 
 
 " Mrs. Courtenay," cried the poor little distressed 
 woman, " do have mercy and tell me what you 
 
 mean 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay, who thought she was approach 
 ing the subject with rare delicacy, was displeased 
 that she should be hastened, and said abruptly : 
 
 " Mr. Adams discovered some eight or nine 
 months ago that the marriage of yourself to him 
 was not valid that the magistrate who performed 
 the ceremony had no authority." 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay regretted her abruptness when 
 she saw the young woman fall back in her chair. 
 She thought that Mrs. Adams had fainted and she 
 sprang up to call assistance, but the young woman 
 by a plainly evident effort regained possession of 
 herself and, rising from her seat, crossed the room 
 and closed the doors. 
 
 " I have had so much trouble in my short life I 
 have been so unhappy," she said plaintively, " that 
 a little more cannot make much difference." 
 
 She came back to her chair and leaned on its 
 back. 
 
 " So I was not married to George, after all," she 
 mused, oblivious to the presence of the high-born 
 dame of society, and the world, and the fashion, 
 " I have always feared that it was so. It did not 
 seem like a marriage ceremony. I have lived with 
 him eight years, the mother of three children a 
 mother and yet not a wife ! "
 
 PLANS THA T FAIL. 109 
 
 * But you are a wife ! " exclaimed Mrs. Courtenay 
 eagerly. The iron was now hot and she would 
 hammer it. 
 
 The young woman, aroused by the eager exclama 
 tion, turned a bewildered face upon her visitor. 
 
 " The marriage with Mr. Adams not being valid, 
 your subsequent one was, and you are in truth and 
 in fact Mrs. Henry Trescotte! " 
 
 If Mrs. Courtenay was ambitious of dramatic 
 effect she secured it. Mrs. Adams stared stupidly 
 at her for a moment, reeled, nearly fell, and finally 
 slipped down into her chair overcome. She waved 
 away, however, the proffered assistance of the older 
 lady, and bracing her back against her chair, her 
 hands tightly clutching the arms of it, tried to grasp 
 the tangle in which she was involved. Mrs. Courte 
 nay, fearful lest she should not grasp the essential 
 fact that she was Mrs. Trescotte, repeated the state 
 ment in various forms. But Mrs. Adams did not 
 heed her; she was trying to think her way out of the 
 confusion of her life. Suddenly an idea, clear and 
 distinct, presented itself. " Then your daughter is 
 not Mrs. Trescotte," she said almost sharply, turn 
 ing upon Mrs. Courtenay. 
 
 " That fact is what has brought me to you." 
 
 Filled as she was with her own woes, yet she had 
 room for sympathy for those of others. She rose, 
 and going to the older woman, took the hand of 
 Mrs. Courtenay in her own, and bending over her, 
 whispered, " I am so sorry for you, so sorry for her. 
 I will do whatever I can to help her."
 
 1*0 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 "She has your place," returned the other; "she 
 is occupying your rights." 
 
 At that moment there was a patter of running 
 feet and the cry of " Mamma." The doors burst 
 open and a handsome lad, dark-eyed and curly 
 headed, ran in. He stopped abashed on seeing a 
 stranger, and then shyly took the hand his mother 
 held out to him. 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay stared at him with wide open 
 eyes. The boy was Trescotte at that age over 
 again, as she had known him when his mother was 
 her most intimate friend. 
 
 " Is that your firstborn," she asked. 
 
 " My firstborn," replied the mother, looking down 
 sadly yet tenderly upon the lad who lifted Tres- 
 cotte s eyes to his mother. 
 
 " Then," said Mrs. Courtenay decidedly, " the 
 more reason why you should claim your rights as 
 Henry Trescotte s wife and take possession of 
 them." 
 
 Mrs. Adams was confounded. She could not 
 understand the other s words. She had supposed 
 that the visit of Dorothy s mother was to plead 
 with her in her daughter s interest, but she could 
 not understand this urgency to put forward her 
 claims as Trescotte s wife. She said so to the elder 
 lady. 
 
 " Look at that child," was the reply. " He bears 
 the proof of his paternity on his face." 
 
 The old, old trouble ; the same charge ; the same 
 difficulty which had wrecked her married life. She
 
 PLANS THAT FAIL. Ill 
 
 wound her arms about the handsome lad as if she 
 would protect him from the blows she had received, 
 and was receiving again. 
 
 " Look at the child," repeated Mrs. Courtenay, 
 " and tell me if your duty is not to give him the 
 father who is his father." 
 
 " I will not admit it," cried the harrowed mother, 
 " and if it is true, there are two others which are 
 not his." 
 
 This statement Mrs. Courtenay was not prepared 
 for, and she had not an answer ready. But Mrs. 
 Adams awoke to the singular attitude of her visitor. 
 She knew that interest in her did not dictate it. 
 
 " Your daughter is living now with Mr. Tres- 
 cotte ? " she suddenly asked. 
 
 " Yes," replied Mrs. Courtenay. 
 
 " Does she love Mr. Trescotte?" 
 
 " Very deeply." 
 
 " Does Mr. Trescotte love her?" 
 
 " Unquestionably." Mrs. Courtenay thought if 
 jealousy could be excited her purpose would be 
 served. 
 
 " They are happy together ? " 
 
 " They profess to be." 
 
 " Then why do you come to me?" 
 
 " Because the place she is occupying is yours." 
 
 " You are not frank. You want to separate them." 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay, confused by the sudden conclu 
 sion, admitted it. 
 
 " Since she is not the wife of Mr. Trescotte/ she 
 said, " her place is at home with me."
 
 112 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 The purpose of her visitor was revealed. In a 
 great rush of thought the young mother saw every 
 thing bearing on the subject as with a single glance. 
 She was indignant. 
 
 " I see, I see ! " she cried. " In order to gain your 
 own end you would use me. You want me to des 
 troy his happiness and increase his misery. I see it 
 all now. She refuses to leave him, he refuses to let 
 her go. Oh, yes, it is very plain now. And you 
 would use me to force them apart. Well, then, 
 I refuse. Whatever trouble Mr. Trescotte is in now, 
 is the result of a chivalrous effort to protect me from 
 the consequences of a wild caprice of a madcap girl. 
 I respect Mr. Trescotte honor him for his own high 
 honor. I will do nothing whatever to distress him. 
 I will never, never claim him for a husband. Look 
 you ! I have lived eight years with another man. 
 I love that man ! " 
 
 " But you are not married to him ; you are, to Mr. 
 Trescotte," persisted Mrs. Courtenay, growing angry 
 as she saw her carefully constructed plan dissolving 
 into thin air. 
 
 " Ah, there are laws superior to those of man, 
 which man cannot alter or repeal higher laws." 
 
 " Consider Mr. Trescotte s position, his wealth 
 and social station, and what he can do for your boy? 
 You say you respect him " 
 
 " Mrs. Courtenay," broke in Mrs. Adams, her voice 
 swelling with indignation. " Look about you. 
 Here are the evidences of wealth and luxury greater 
 than Mr. Trescotte can possess. I am accustomed
 
 PLANS THAT FAIL. 113 
 
 to them. Social position ? What is it ? Recogni 
 tion by and companionship with a few people who 
 think themselves superior to others no less refined or 
 cultivated than themselves. But enough ; I refuse 
 to discuss it. My position is hard, but I will not 
 increase its bitterness with the consciousness that 
 I have done aught to increase the distress of a 
 gallant gentleman, who once sacrificed himself to 
 save my honor." 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay listened to this with rising choler. 
 She had felt from the beginning of her visit that she 
 was in a false position, and now to hear her darling 
 class flouted as if of no importance, and her propo 
 sition denounced as little less than dishonorable, 
 was more than she could endure. 
 
 " You seem to forget," she said with an unmis 
 takable sneer, " that dishonor is in the name of 
 Adams, and escape from it in the name of Tres- 
 cotte ! " 
 
 "And you, madame," replied the other with gentle 
 dignity, " forget that I am in my own house, hostess 
 to you." 
 
 To receive a lesson in good manners was not 
 the purpose of Mrs. Courtenay s visit to Buffalo, 
 Very uncomfortable, she took her leave with the 
 remark that she regretted that Mrs. Adams did 
 not see her duty in the light others must. 
 
 The interview was so trying to her nerves that 
 Mr. Courtenay found the next half hour very trying 
 to him. During the course of this half hour Mrs. 
 Courtenay informed her husband that she found
 
 114 SHOULD SHE HAVE L&FT HIM? 
 
 Mrs. Adams to be a very ill-bred person with 
 shadowy notions of honor and morality. 
 
 Now, I submit that Mrs. Adams, who has always 
 been rather a favorite of mine, was not but there, 
 of course if Mrs. Courtenay, the leader of the most 
 exclusive sept of the most exclusive society of our 
 city said it was so, why it does not become me to 
 combat it.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE BISHOP TO THE RESCUE. 
 
 MRS. COURTENAY, much crestfallen, returned to 
 New York. There was abroad such laxity of morals 
 and loose disregard of obligations and honor, espe 
 cially duty to society, that she was quite disgusted. 
 What was the world coming to, if legally wedded 
 wives declined to insist upon residence with their 
 husbands, and laughed, as it were, at the superior 
 advantages of society ? Really, she would have to 
 believe the statements of the vulgar dailies about the 
 spread of socialistic, communistic, and anarchical 
 ideas, which she had always supposed to be the mere 
 vaporings of sensation mongers. After the experi 
 ence of the past two days she was ready to believe 
 anything. Here was her own daughter flying in 
 the face of all settled principles, and actually assert 
 ing that her first duty was to secure her own happi 
 ness, regardless of all other things. And she was 
 aided and abetted by Trescotte, whose breeding and 
 traditions were no less immaculate. She might 
 think that some dreadful heresy had crept into her 
 own special order, and it alone, had she not found 
 the same eccentricity in a lower class. 
 
 Put disgusted as she was, and as well disappointed
 
 Il6 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 in the failure of the plan which had taken her 
 across the State, yet was her determination firm to 
 rescue Dorothy from the false position she was in, 
 if not for Dorothy s sake alone, then for that of the 
 younger members of her family, whose futures were 
 yet to be made. But how? Appeals to her 
 daughter were useless ; Mrs. Adams refused to 
 interfere. Would she have to adopt her husband s 
 theory, that Dorothy s mind was unsettled ? It 
 really began to look so. Could she only separate 
 Dorothy from Trescotte on any pretext, and sur 
 round her with the proper moral atmosphere, she 
 was quite certain she could make the separation 
 permanent. 
 
 But Dr. Balkin, for whom she sent as soon after 
 her return from Buffalo as she could, disposed of 
 that idea. 
 
 " Why, Mrs. Courtenay," said that physician with 
 his customary frankness, " if Dorothy is insane, it is 
 a pity we all could not be touched with the same 
 complaint. No one could be clearer-minded. She 
 has wonderfully developed. Her troubles have 
 strengthened her mind, not weakened it. Her 
 health is superb. No physician or specialist having 
 the slightest regard for his oath or his reputation 
 would dare to do other than testify to her sanity." 
 
 " Do I understand you, doctor, to say that you 
 justify Dorothy in the stand she has taken," asked 
 the lady, not a little vexed by the doctor s decision 
 of manner. 
 
 "That is a horse of another color," replied the
 
 THE BISHOP TO THE RESCUE. II? 
 
 doctor, using one of those phrases that always 
 jarred on Mrs. Courtenay, notwithstanding the 
 respect she entertained for him. " The sanity, not 
 the morality, of Dorothy is under question." 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay would like to have retorted that 
 one could not exist in Dorothy without the other, 
 but refrained, because the doctor always insisted on 
 combating what he called error on the spot. 
 
 " But on that head," said he, looking at his watch 
 to see if he had time to devote to the discussion, 
 " I am forced to admit that Dorothy presents argu 
 ments you cannot answer satisfactorily to yourself. 
 Of course, you can fall back on the truism that one 
 should always do right for right s sake, irrespective 
 of all other considerations. But, you see, Dorothy 
 insists that she is doing right, She says that 
 organized society in establishing the principle of 
 monogamous marriages has builded so badly that, 
 through its defects, the condition in which she and 
 Trescotte find themselves is made possible, and she 
 wants to know if, because of those defects, they are 
 to be disgraced and punished ? Upon my word, the 
 answer is difficult. You see organized society says: 
 Monogamous marriages are right ; if you will accept 
 the principle, we will guarantee to you protection 
 in the enjoyment of your wife or husband, as the 
 case may be ; the control of your children ; the 
 possession of your property ; and its succession as 
 you desire it. It is a contract. Well, these two 
 young people of ours enter into this contract with 
 organized society and what do they find ? Society
 
 II 8 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 isn t able to carry out its part of the contract. 
 Society has slipped a cog. What is the result? By 
 Jove, Trescotte turns up with two women, both of 
 whom bear the relation of wives to him ; Dorothy 
 is wedded without a husband ; Adams is wedded 
 without a wife ; children with one mother and 
 different fathers ; everybody innocent except the 
 scamp of a civil magistrate society s agent, who 
 was removed by another of society s agents, having 
 superior power, during his term of office, and who 
 exercised a function of power after that power 
 has ceased to exist. Now asks Dorothy : Society s 
 machinery having failed, and brought about this con 
 dition of things, why should she, because of this 
 failure to which she in no way contributed, be 
 punished with condemnation, ostracism, and separa 
 tion ; why should that child, yet unborn, be deprived 
 of the care and protection of its father, the natural 
 and proper guardian ? Upon my word, Mrs. Courte- 
 nay, a better head than mine must answer her, I 
 can t." 
 
 " But," argued Mrs. Courtenay, highly displeased, 
 wondering that she had never noticed the vulgarity 
 of the doctor before, "having discovered this defect 
 with all its unhappy consequences, what right has 
 Dorothy to live with a man who is another woman s 
 husband?" 
 
 " There you are," cried the doctor, jumping from 
 his seat, very much in earnest and pacing up and 
 down the floor, making Mrs. Courtenay so warm 
 that she was compelled to ask him for the fan lying
 
 THE BISHOP TO THE RESCUE. 1*9 
 
 on the table. " There you are. That is where 
 Dorothy fairly takes your breath away with her 
 argument. She says practically, not in so many 
 words, but to the same effect, that society, organized 
 society, you know the state, the law having failed 
 in its part of the contract in the marriage of Adams 
 and that other woman, it cannot calmly disregard 
 its failure, and insist upon the stability of the second 
 because the first failed through the defects of its 
 own machinery. Therefore, the marriage of herself, 
 sanctioned by both church and law, must stand. In 
 other words, society having made one failure must 
 stand upon and end on that failure, and not go for 
 ward and make another failure in an attempt to 
 repair the first." 
 
 "It is too finely drawn for me," said Mrs. Courte- 
 nay, fanning herself vigorously. 
 
 " It is the idea of intent she is getting at," inter- 
 preted the doctor, still very earnest. " Adams and 
 the Hallock girl intended to get married ; the 
 state organized society intended to marry them. 
 They thought they were married. Now, says 
 Dorothy, the mere fact that the machinery of the 
 state, provided by itself, broke down does not 
 destroy the intent of these people. You say, per 
 haps, that Trescotte intended also to marry the 
 Hallock girl, but it was an intent based upon the 
 belief that she was an unwedded girl. The basis of 
 the intent being false the intent does not exist. 
 The girl intended to marry Trescotte, but she was 
 falsely persuaded that she was not bound by the
 
 120 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 first marriage, and away goes her intent. And all 
 this is granted when Adams is permitted to take 
 repossession of the girl. Now, says Dorothy, it is 
 not good sense nor good morals to change condi 
 tions existing eight years, because eight years after 
 their establishment a defect in society s machinery 
 is discovered." 
 
 " But will the world follow this extraordinary and 
 very finely spun reasoning?" sneered Mrs. Cour- 
 tenay, out of all patience with the doctor that he 
 should see anything in Dorothy s fanciful logic. 
 
 " Possibly not," promptly returned the doctor. 
 " The world is very ignorant and very obstinate." 
 Then, as if thinking aloud, he added : " There are no 
 conflicts of interest. Mrs. Adams does not want to 
 go to Trescotte ; Trescotte does not want her. 
 Trescotte does not want Dorothy to leave him ; 
 Dorothy does not want to leave Trescotte. All 
 there is of it is, that Dorothy s people want to take 
 her home." 
 
 " And is not that what you would want to do if 
 one of your daughters was in a similar position?" 
 asked Mrs. Courtenay. bridling up quickly in her 
 own defense. 
 
 " Yes," readily replied the doctor. "Just what I 
 would want to do, for I am as much afraid of that 
 great big bugaboo, society, and the world, as you are. 
 But let us get back to business," he added as he 
 took his hat and gloves and picked up his cane. 
 " Dismiss all idea of Dorothy s insanity. You will 
 only get into trouble if you pursue the idea further."
 
 THE BISHOP TO THE RESCUE. 121 
 
 And the doctor went his way, leaving Mrs. Courte- 
 nay with a feeling of utter helplessness. She was 
 forced to confess that she had been defeated in 
 every effort to take Dorothy from Trescotte by 
 methods that were not public. She thought, and 
 with satisfaction, that as yet knowledge of the affair 
 was confined to a small circle a few friends who 
 would not talk. And it was clear that before the 
 knowledge crept out she must forward Hilda s wed 
 ding with all possible speed. It was to occur in 
 October, but the date was not definitely fixed. 
 That she must attend to as soon as Waldemar 
 returned from Saratoga, by which time she hoped 
 to bring about such complications as would prevent 
 the possibility of a rupture. In the meantime she 
 did not know but that it would be the better plan, 
 since Dorothy would not leave Trescotte willingly, 
 to devote her energies to keeping the truth a secret 
 until after Hilda s wedding at least. The thought 
 flashed over her mind that such plan would be a com 
 promise with duty, and that involved in it would be 
 the necessity of a seeming acquiescence in the relation 
 Dorothy was maintaining. This troubled her. She 
 could not discuss the question with her husband. 
 If it were one relating to property, the organization 
 of a stable, or the proper arrangement of a dinner, 
 his advice would be of weight ; but in this matter 
 of a daughter who was married and yet not married, 
 a wife and yet not a wife, he would be beyond 
 his depth, and would suggest nothing better than 
 insanity.
 
 122 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 A happy thought struck her. The bishop was 
 in town. She would call upon him. Ordering a 
 carriage she was driven to the episcopal residence. 
 She found the prelate in, and to him unfolded her 
 woes. He was distressed, as a shepherd naturally 
 would be when he heard that one of the lambs of 
 his flock was so involved. He proposed that he 
 should go to Dorothy at once, and under the mantle 
 of his spiritual authority instruct her as to the course 
 she should pursue, which, of course, was in the direc 
 tion in which Mrs. Courtenay had been laboring. 
 
 While the good lady was willing, indeed anxious, 
 that he should do so, still she was doubtful as to the 
 outcome. What she wanted at that time was to 
 be advised as to her own duty. For the sake of the 
 great ends to be gained, could she give a seeming 
 acquiesence to Dorothy s relations for a time? 
 
 Perhaps it was not flattering to the great lady, 
 but the bishop s mind was more on Dorothy s posi 
 tion than that of her mother s. He required the 
 story to be told him again, stopping its recital from 
 time to time to inquire into points that were not 
 plain. Finally, when he had the whole story in all 
 its details, he paced up and down his study in deep 
 thought, the while Mrs. Courtenay waited patiently. 
 
 " It is very distressing," he said, emerging from 
 his thought. " I cannot see that Mr. Trescotte or 
 Dorothy are in any way to blame, until, learning the 
 truth, they determined to continue to live together. 
 There is one view of this question which does not 
 $eem to have been considered by anyone of all those
 
 THE BISHOP TO THE RESCUE. 123 
 
 you have consulted. I am somewhat astonished 
 someone has not seen it that it was left for me to 
 suggest it me, a churchman. There is such a thing 
 as a marriage by civil contract. The Church holds 
 marriage to be a holy sacrament, and abhors the 
 civil marriage. But the law not only recognizes it, 
 but provides for it by vesting authority to perform 
 it in civil magistrates. It was this sort of a mar 
 riage that the man Adams and the woman Hallock 
 thought they had made. Now, if I am not mis 
 taken, the law in this State is still more liberal. The 
 mere standing up publicly of the man and woman, 
 each declaring before a witness that they propose 
 to live together as man and wife, constitutes a valid 
 marriage a common law marriage, I believe they 
 call it." 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay, inclining her head in token of 
 her comprehension of the bishop s remarks, thought 
 it was a very common marriage indeed. 
 
 "Now," continued the bishop, "it is quite among 
 the possibilities that the mere fact of Adams and 
 this woman standing before a witness this magis 
 trate and declaring their intentions to live as man 
 and wife, may be interpreted as being a common 
 law marriage, and if it were, the position of Tres- 
 cotte and Dorothy would be much simplified." 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay was delighted, and filled anew 
 with admiration for the bishop, who, she had always 
 declared, was the most delightful man of her 
 acquaintance. 
 
 "Of course," continued the bishop, il a competent
 
 124 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 lawyer will advise you. I don t know just what 
 would be necessary to establish the fact. Perhaps 
 a divorce suit upon the part of somebody. But 
 here I must stop, for embarrassment begins. I 
 cannot and will not advise you as to this, because my 
 sacerdotal office forbids me. All I can do is to sug 
 gest the reference of the question to competent 
 counsel. But I will go to Dorothy. She will not 
 refuse to talk to me, who has baptized, confirmed, 
 and married her." 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay left the bishop with a light heart. 
 She was more than ever convinced of the "comforts 
 of religion " ; and without waiting to consult her 
 husband was driven downtown, to the office of Mr. 
 Magrane. 
 
 The bishop did go, and without delay, to 
 Dorothy. Moreover he met Trescotte. The call 
 was exceedingly pleasant to all concerned, though 
 the bishop did set forth their duty as he saw it, but 
 as they did not, and as they frankly told him. But 
 everybody was very polite. Dorothy was really 
 glad to see the bishop and made him feel that she 
 was. But pleased as he was, he left them with little 
 belief in the efficacy of his own law, and much faith 
 in that which he was certain Mrs. Courtenay had 
 left him to invoke.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LAW SUPPORTS THE CHURCH. 
 
 WHEN the bishop s suggestion was put before 
 Mr. Magrane, that gentleman thought possibly 
 there was something in it. He wondered why it 
 had not occurred to him. Yet he saw great diffi 
 culties in establishing the fact. A judicial deter 
 mination could only be reached through a suit at 
 law. And who would bring it ? If Trescotte and 
 Dorothy would sue each other for divorce perhaps 
 the validity of the Adams-Hallock marriage could 
 be brought in and determined, but if they were 
 willing to proceed to such extraordinary means to 
 establish the validity of their own marriage, the 
 result must be that a huge scandal would be spread 
 out for the public delectation, involving the sacred 
 Courtenay family. 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay dismissed that idea summarily. 
 Well, then, it was among the possibilities that Mrs. 
 Adams might be persuaded to bring a suit against 
 Mr. Adams for the support of her children, or 
 abandonment, but the lawyer judged that to be 
 very doubtful, in view of the lady s admission that 
 she still loved Adams and desired nothing so much 
 as a restoration of relations between herself and 
 
 125
 
 1*6 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 Adams ; and (the lawyer was cautious of statement 
 here) doubtless the lady had quite as much dislike 
 for scandal as Mrs. Courtenay, and such a suit must 
 inevitably bring out the incident of the five months 
 with Trescotte. Of course Adams could bring a 
 suit, but to what end? To establish the validity of 
 a marriage, which, as it stood now, to him was inva 
 lid, and re-impose obligations which he had shuffled 
 off? 
 
 Looking at the matter from every side, and 
 believing that there was, in fact, a common law 
 marriage between Adams and Miss Hallock, Mr. 
 Magrane was of the opinion that the best thing to 
 do was to do nothing. 
 
 It was true that in the beginning Mr. Magrane 
 had advised Mrs. Trescotte to leave her husband, 
 but that was before this phase of the situation had 
 been presented. Upon consideration, he now 
 believed that Mrs. Trescotte was legally married, 
 and he would advise that she remain with her hus 
 band. Of course, this advice was based upon the 
 assumption of the validity of the common law mar 
 riage, which the more he thought of it, the more 
 he was inclined to believe was valid. If anyone 
 wanted to dispute the verity of the assumption, 
 then let that disputatious person undertake by legal 
 process to prove its falsity and thereby play their 
 game, but until someone did, Mr. and Mrs. Trescotte 
 were justified in acting on the assumption. It now 
 seemed to him that Mrs. Trescotte s instincts had been 
 true from the beginning, and that her position was
 
 LAW SUPPORTS THE CHURCH. 127 
 
 tenable, not, of course, upon the fanciful grounds on 
 which she had founded her decision, but upon the 
 more solid facts of the case. It was useless to 
 think that this affair could be kept from the public. 
 Knowledge of it would creep out in some form, and 
 perhaps create doubt, if not misapprehension, as to 
 the real relations, but that could not be avoided any 
 more than the occasion of all the trouble could be 
 disposed of. It was inseparable from the complica 
 tion ; the young people must go on as they were 
 going, answering nothing, defending nothing, justi 
 fying nothing keeping their own counsel. 
 
 This was by no means the outcome Mrs. Courte- 
 nay had expected. Her active imagination, pro 
 jected into the next winter s season, saw the marital 
 relations of her daughter the subject of unpleasant 
 speculation at half the dinner tables, and all the teas, 
 of her world, and she could see with what delight 
 the matron mothers, envious because of the brilliant 
 outcome of the Trescotte engagement at the time 
 of the marriage, and the undoubted triumph of the 
 Waldemar alliance, would roll the sweet morsel 
 over and over on every opportunity, and she winced 
 under it. But what other course was there to pur 
 sue ? She would not escape this gossip if Dorothy 
 were to separate from Trescotte. The advice of 
 Mr, Magrane justified acquiescence in a continuance 
 of the relation until after the Waldemar nuptials, 
 and during the intervening time she hoped that 
 secresy could be maintained ; indeed, she believed 
 it could be.
 
 128 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 So she left the lawyer, determined upon her policy, 
 and that was to say nothing in her family, or to her 
 friends, implying a doubt as to the regularity of the 
 Trescotte marriage, and if anyone was presumptuous 
 enough to speak of it within her hearing, she would 
 summon to her aid all that arrogance which she 
 knew so well how to use. Surely, she thought, as 
 she was riding up town, the families of the Courte- 
 nays and the Van Aliens, with their powerful con 
 nections, were potent enough to force a respectful 
 recognition of Mr. and Mrs. Trescotte. Mr. Banker 
 had forced the acceptance of his daughter when her 
 name had been compromised in its association with 
 Tom Handysides, even though Mrs. Handysides 
 had gone to the length of beginning a suit for 
 divorce. Surely she could do as much. And the 
 beginning of the effort was to be found in refusing 
 to admit the possibility of a doubt of the integrity 
 of the Trescotte relation. 
 
 By the time this conclusion was reached so was 
 the hotel at which she and her husband were stop 
 ping. For a lady, certainly not less than forty-six, 
 accustomed to the most dignified leisure and the 
 extreme of luxury, the three days since she had left 
 home had been of unexampled industry. Excite 
 ment and her natural energy had kept her up. But 
 though she was beginning to feel the effects of her 
 labors, she had yet more business for the day. Her 
 husband was anxiously awaiting her arrival. He 
 was immediately thrown into confusion by the 
 rapid change of front of his wife, When he last
 
 LAW SUPPORTS THE CHURCH. "9 
 
 saw her she was apparently hopeless. Now she was 
 in high glee, declaring everything was all right. 
 This whirling about and unsettling things that had 
 been settled was very irritating. It had been diffi 
 cult for him to understand how Dorothy had be 
 come unmarried ; it was no less difficult for him 
 to comprehend how, having been unmarried, she 
 should have become suddenly married again. But 
 he accepted the fact, as he did most things from his 
 wife, and to her satisfaction took fast hold of the 
 essential, that there must be no admission of a 
 doubt that Trescotte and Dorothy were truly man 
 and wife. 
 
 After a lunch hastily taken, Mrs. Courtenay, bid 
 ding her husband to make arrangements for their 
 return to Newport that evening, prepared herself 
 for two calls. 
 
 One on the bishop to inform him of the result 
 of her conference with Mr. Magrane, and to obtain, 
 if possible, his approval of the policy she had de 
 termined upon, and thus remove all lingering 
 doubts as to its morality. The bishop was highly 
 pleased with the turn of affairs. He could see, he 
 said, little, if any, difference between a common 
 law marriage and one performed by a civil magis 
 trate. Neither, as all marriages should be, was a 
 holy sacrament. Therefore, if so high an authority 
 as Mr. Magrane was satisfied that a common law 
 marriage had been contracted by Mr. Adams and 
 the woman who now bore his name, then surely Mr. 
 Trescotte and Dorothy were in precisely the same
 
 13 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 position as they all supposed they were on the day 
 he had married them truly and lawfully wedded. 
 
 Much delighted, and with all burdens lifted from 
 her conscience, Mrs. Courtenay went to her second 
 call to Dorothy. This time she saw Trescotte, 
 for all bitterness had passed away and she was pre 
 pared to take him into the sunshine of her favor as 
 her son-in-law. We are all of us prone to believe 
 earnestly what we sincerely desire to believe. It is 
 therefore not to be wondered at that, having Mr. 
 Magrane s opinion and the bishop s approval, Mrs. 
 Courtenay was persuaded that there was not the 
 least flaw in the marriage title of her daughter, 
 and whatever trouble there was, was due to the 
 very stupid discovery of Mr. Adams, and that Tres 
 cotte and Dorothy had been very badly treated. 
 So improved was the condition of her mind that, 
 as she waited for response to her bell, she noted 
 with critical delight the equipage waiting to take 
 Dorothy for her afternoon s drive, perfect in its de 
 tail, from the superb horses to the motionless foot 
 man with folded arms standing at the door of the 
 coach. 
 
 When Dorothy, who had been anticipating 
 another assault from her mother after the calls of 
 the doctor and the bishop had justified her hus 
 band s predictions, learned the purpose of her 
 mother s call, she was greatly delighted. Perhaps 
 she cried a little over the satisfaction she found in 
 the assurance that she was a wife in name as well as 
 in fact. And there was no less satisfaction in the
 
 LAW SUPPORTS THE CHURCH. 131 
 
 assurance that there would be no rupture of family 
 ties. She had foreseen such rupture, and while de 
 termined to endure it rather than part from Tres- 
 cotte, yet she had grieved over it in secret. Tres- 
 cotte suspected that this was the reason for the 
 shade of melancholy he had seen flit over her face 
 when her father s or mother s name was mentioned, 
 and he was highly pleased with Mrs. Courtenay s 
 news, assurances, and change of temper. 
 
 " I was much distressed," said Mrs. Courtenay 
 very affably, " when I first heard the story. The 
 only thing I hold against Mr. Magrane is that be 
 fore making us all so uncomfortable he did not ex 
 amine the case in all its bearings. You see it is only 
 because of my persistent efforts in your interest, my 
 dear children, that the truth was forced to the sur 
 face. Surely you have had evidence of my affection 
 for you." 
 
 And Trescotte, anxious to believe anything which 
 would increase the happiness of his beloved Dorothy, 
 assured his mother-in-law that he had never been in 
 any doubt of that affection. 
 
 " Is it not singular," asked Mrs. Courtenay, swell 
 ing with pride and really believing that she had 
 rescued the pair from some calamity, "is it not 
 singular that it should have been the bishop who 
 suggested this happy solution? You should both 
 hold him in great esteem and affection." 
 
 " We do," responded Trescotte, very grateful, now 
 that he saw the old happy light dancing in the dark 
 eyes of Dorothy. " We ll have him to dinner. His
 
 I3 2 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 family is away and his household must be dis 
 ordered." 
 
 A strict regard for veracity compels me to note 
 that Mrs. Courtenay said nothing about her hurried 
 trip to Buffalo, and her endeavor to persuade Mrs. 
 Adams to set up claims to Trescotte as a husband. 
 It really was of no importance in view of the turn of 
 affairs ; it would have only complicated matters, 
 and it is doubtful whether her motives would have 
 been understood without a good deal of explana 
 tion. 
 
 When it was time for her to return to her hotel, 
 her own hired carriage was dismissed, and she drove 
 back in that splendid equipage which had so excited 
 her admiration, with Trescotte and Dorothy, and at 
 the hotel there was a happy meeting with the father, 
 in which the last vestige of bitterness was swept 
 away. 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay advised, and Mr. Courtenay 
 urged, that the Trescottes should close their city 
 house and visit Newport. The elder lady feared 
 that the eccentricity of an open house in the summer 
 months would excite remarks, something at this 
 juncture to be avoided. Trescotte urged, in re 
 sponse, that the closing of it again after opening it 
 for two weeks would excite quite as much remark, 
 and being sustained by Dorothy, declined, saying 
 that he was quite willing that the world should 
 believe him " spoons " on his wife, and of inventing 
 a new way of spending the honeymoon. 
 
 Trescotte had a better and more profound reason
 
 LA W SUPPORTS THE CHURCH. 133 
 
 than he had seen fit to express. He was by no means 
 certain that their problem had been solved in this 
 simple and direct manner. And he did not care to 
 expose Dorothy to the dangers and humiliations 
 should their story become known while they were 
 in Newport. And he knew his Newport too well 
 not to know what it would do if opportunity were 
 given it. 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay, wearied yet happy, returned with 
 her husband to Newport to resume the weary grind 
 of society s treadmill, and Dorothy and Trescotte to 
 the house with windows opening on Central Park, 
 to live their lives in their own ways, far happier than 
 they had yet been, for the sunshine is always brighter 
 after the black storm clouds have rolled away.
 
 BOOK III. OSTRACISM. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A CRITICAL POINT. 
 
 THE wedding of Hilda and Waldemar took place 
 in October, and the two young people crossed to 
 Germany, carrying forward one of Mrs. Courtenay s 
 most cherished plans. 
 
 Dorothy and Trescotte were not present. A 
 jewel of large value represented them. At the time 
 their absence was not noticed. It was not until it 
 was all over that someone recollected and com- 
 mented upon the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Trescotte 
 were present at neither the ceremony at the church, 
 nor at the reception at the house. Then busy 
 tongues wagged. 
 
 In the months intervening between the great dis 
 covery of the common law marriage, over which 
 Mrs. Courtenay so plumed herself, and the marriage 
 of Hilda, over which Mrs. Courtenay so triumphed, 
 the lives of Dorothy and Trescotte flowed along on 
 pleasant and happy lines. Life was perfect to 
 
 135
 
 I3 6 SHOULD SHE HA VE LEFT HIM? 
 
 Dorothy. The birds sang in her heart a cheerful 
 refrain that found an echo in her voice. Weather- 
 beaten as I am by time, and the storms it brings, 
 and realizing, as I must, how hollow are the joys, 
 ambitions, and pomps of life, yet never could I look 
 upon that happy face and those shining eyes, lifted 
 with such sublime faith and confidence to Trescotte 
 in those days, without a responsive thrill and a slip 
 ping back into the old superstition that there were 
 such things as joy and happiness. Trescotte, too, 
 in those days seemed no less happy, though he has 
 since confessed to me that there was then the alloy 
 of apprehension. Having little faith in the common 
 law marriage, which he believed to be a mere sub 
 terfuge to quiet consciences anxious to be quieted, 
 he feared that when society returned to the city 
 Dorothy s real ordeal would be reached. Supported 
 by the powerful influences of the Courtenay and 
 Van Allen, the Trescotte and McNish (his mother s) 
 families, together with the approval of the bishop, 
 who had dined half a dozen times with them, he 
 was willing to believe that their social position could 
 be made secure. The trouble, in his estimation, 
 was the concentration of those powerful interests. 
 Divisions and jealousies existed, and there were 
 branches of each family quite ready to rise in revolt 
 against other branches of the same family. Did not 
 the wife of the nephew of Herbert Courtenay dispute 
 the right of Mrs. Courtenay to lead in society? 
 And did she not insist, in view of the fact that her 
 husband was the eldest son of the eldest son, ft
 
 A CRITICAL POINT. 137 
 
 cetera, upon her right to engrave on her cards " Mrs. 
 Courtenay," a privilege Mrs. Herbert Courtenay 
 arrogated ? While all these various and sometimes 
 hostile divisions were ready to combine to repel the 
 invader, apparently they always were willing to take 
 up arms against one of their order if the contest 
 was to be waged within society s circle. Trescotte 
 feared that a contest in which Mrs. Courtenay 
 should be the leader would only result in insult and 
 humiliation for Dorothy. For himself he cared 
 nothing at all ; it was Dorothy and Dorothy s happi* 
 ness that was upon his mind. 
 
 Trescotte often discussed this question over the 
 wine with Mr. Magrane. The lawyer had become 
 a frequent guest at the Trescotte table. The cook 
 was excellent and the wines superb. And he had 
 grown to be very fond of the two young people. 
 While Trescotte could not be satisfied that the 
 world would accept the common law marriage as a 
 solution of their troubles, Mr. Magrane could do no 
 more than assert his positive opinion that it must 
 stand in law, if they could only bring it under 
 judicial review. They never got beyond these 
 propositions, but the subject had an irresistible 
 attraction for them, and they returned to it fre 
 quently when Dorothy had left the table. 
 
 The real result of all this thinking and discussion 
 upon the subject was, that Trescotte persuaded him 
 self that the course he and Dorothy should pursue 
 was that of self-imposed isolation ; to refuse to 
 accept invitations and to give none. If these peo-
 
 138 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 pie, learning all there was to be learned, condemned 
 their position, at least the charge of forcing them 
 selves upon society in its ignorance of those rela^ 
 tions could not be maintained against them. By 
 this course also Dorothy could be preserved from 
 slights and humiliations. Fully persuaded as he was 
 as to the wisdom of this course, yet he shrank from 
 telling his doubts and fears to Dorothy in the high 
 tide of her happiness. 
 
 But the time for the Hilda-Waldemar wedding 
 approached. During the weeks preceding the wed 
 ding, after the Courtenay family had returned from 
 Newport, the Trescottes had frequently dined at 
 Dorothy s old home, and the various members of 
 her family had been frequent visitors at her table. 
 To all this Trescotte had submitted without protest, 
 although he had been worried over sitting at the 
 table with Waldemar. It was not because he was in 
 any doubt as to the moral standard of Waldemar. 
 He knew only too well that that easy-going young 
 gentleman had dined at many tables the female grace 
 of which was a purchasable quantity, and often had 
 had the hardihood to leave his own drag at the 
 races to converse over carriage doors with beauties 
 more notorious for the publicity of their lives than 
 the circumspection of them. But he also knew the 
 peculiar code governing young men of the Walde 
 mar breed, and that they not only demanded from 
 their wives the most spotless escutcheon, but the 
 same from all of the female persuasion who belonged 
 to them. The possible cloud upon the Trescotte
 
 A CRITICAL POINT. 139 
 
 marriage title had never been mentioned in the 
 Courtenay family, and of it Hilda was as ignorant 
 as Waldemar. 
 
 But with the wedding came the necessity for 
 action. The question was, should or should they 
 not present themselves at the ceremony and the 
 reception. Trescotte laid it before Dorothy, thereby 
 greatly distressing her. If her father and mother 
 and the bishop were satisfied as to the integrity of 
 their relations, why should not the world be? Her 
 husband told her all his doubts and apprehensions. 
 It was like beginning all over again. Dorothy had 
 rested so secure that revival of this question was 
 almost as much of a shock as the revelation had 
 been. However, she comprehended that all of Tres- 
 cotte s concern was for herself, and that sweetened 
 the bitterness of it. 
 
 The end of the conference was the conclusion 
 that self-imposed isolation should be the policy, and 
 to this conclusion Dorothy came uninfluenced by 
 Trescotte, who contented himself with laying his 
 apprehensions before her, asking her to reason it out 
 for herself, promising to abide by any decision she 
 might come to. 
 
 That is why they were represented by an expen. 
 give jewel at the wedding.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MRS. DEEKMAN S DINNER. 
 
 THE wisdom of Trescotte was soon made rnani* 
 fest. 
 
 Society had not long settled into its autumn 
 routine before a whisper went its rounds that there 
 was something wrong in the Trescotte marriage. 
 No one knew just what it was, but whatever it was, 
 was wrong. The facts, that the Trescotte s had 
 opened their city house in mid-summer instead of 
 herding with their kind on mountain and seaside, 
 and that they were conspicuous by their absence at 
 the Waldemar nuptials, were put in evidence, and 
 people were left to draw their own conclusions. 
 And people, not certain what conclusions they 
 should draw, nevertheless concluded things were 
 very bad. It is a charming quality of human nature 
 that we always take the most pessimistic view of 
 our neighbor s affairs. By and by the whisper 
 took the more definite form of assertion that it had 
 been discovered that Trescotte had a wife, other 
 than Dorothy, hidden away these many years, who, 
 learning of the Courtenay alliance, refused to be 
 longer placated with money. Then this was fol 
 lowed up with the positive statement that all of
 
 MRS. DEEKMAN S DINNER, 141 
 
 this had been known to the Courtenays from the 
 beginning, yet, as the wife was a low Swiss girl back 
 in the mountains of her native country, and the 
 marriage was contracted before Trescotte was of 
 age, it had been supposed nothing would be heard 
 of it to discomfort anybody. But now the whole 
 Swiss family, with peaked hats from which fluttered 
 gay ribbons, with short velvet jackets with many 
 buttons and cross bars of many metal laces, had 
 suddenly appeared in the city prepared to push the 
 rights of the Swiss Mrs. Trescotte to the extreme. 
 
 And while society gossiped and wondered, Mr. 
 and Mrs. Trescotte lived their own lives in their 
 own way. Self-imposed isolation is what they 
 called it. A figure of speech, however. They rode 
 in the Park, and none on the Boulevard created 
 more envy than they did when the famous hackneys 
 swept along, arching their necks and throwing their 
 knees up and down with the precision of piston rods. 
 At the fall regattas the yachtsmen had admired 
 the fine lines of The Decision, and noted with 
 applause that, like a true sailor, Mrs. Trescotte took 
 her "trick " at the wheel. Their faces were to be 
 seen at all the first nights, and the Trescotte box 
 at the Music Hall was as eligibly situated as the 
 heaviest subscriber to the symphony concerts ought 
 to be. Moreover, there were current stories of 
 dinners given to people famous in the arts and 
 sciences, and musicales, which, if known in advance, 
 would have led to more intrigue and diplomacy for 
 admission than ivould have sufficed for three changes
 
 142 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 of the map of Europe. Surely self-imposed isola 
 tion under these circumstances was only a figure of 
 speech. 
 
 About the time the marital relations of the Tres- 
 cottes began to be talked about openly, Mrs. Deck- 
 man gave a dinner. This lady had three daughters 
 still in stock, and had at one time entertained great 
 hopes of both Trescotte and Waldemar. 
 
 From the moment I learned that not one of the 
 Courtenay or Trescotte connections were bidden, 
 and that Mr. Magrane was, I had a wicked sus 
 picion that the dinner was a bit of social diplomacy 
 to get at the truth of the Trescotte affair. My sus 
 picion was confirmed when, long before champagne, 
 Mrs. Beestonmy, sworn crony of Mrs. Deekman, 
 started the ball. A mention of the mystery only, 
 was required to set the tongues in motion. All the 
 old insinuations were repeated, and " Airy " Sheffer, 
 beau to the matrons present when they were young, 
 and still beau to their daughters, detailed minutely 
 the Swiss family story. So much attention did he 
 receive, something unusual in his experience, that 
 he was tempted to flights of fancy involving an 
 interview with the paternal Swiss, but was deterred 
 by something in the eyes of Tracey Harte, who 
 watched him steadily. 
 
 " How nice," commented Mrs. Trevor-Allen when 
 "Airy" Sheffer had completed his tale. "Why 
 does Mr. Trescotte hesitate ? I dote on bells. 
 From that moment when my nurse took me to see 
 a Swiss family of bell ringers, who made such
 
 MRS. DEEKMAH S DINNER. 143 
 
 lovely music by striking bells with a little stick, I 
 have had but one serious ambition in life, and that 
 is to be on terms of intimacy with a bell ringer. If 
 Mr. Trescotte will acknowledge this Swiss bell ring 
 ing wife, I ll be her dearest friend." 
 
 Mr. Magrane, who was the lady s vis-h-vis, and 
 who was meeting her for the first time, addressed 
 her across the table, his eyes twinkling with humor: 
 
 " You do not believe the Swiss family story ? " 
 
 " Believe it ?" she cried. " Oh, I must. My great 
 desire to have a Swiss bell ringer in our set compels 
 me, and then Mr. Sheffer tells it, and he has never 
 been known to spread a story the truth of which he 
 has not fully investigated have you, Mr. Sheffer?" 
 
 The appeal was made with such sweetness and 
 confidence that " Airy " lost a little of that airiness 
 which had made the pun on his name possible, and 
 replied, quite red in the face : 
 
 " If I had had the honor of your closer attention, 
 Mrs. Trevor-Allen, you would have heard me say 
 that I did not vouch for the truth of the story, but 
 that it was current talk." 
 
 " How disappointing," exclaimed the lady. " I 
 am afraid my ambition is not to be gratified. Be 
 sides, if Mr. Sheffer s tale falls to the ground, what 
 guarantee have we that the whole Trescotte gossip 
 does not go down, too? There is a legal maxim 
 to that end, is there not, Mr. Magrane ? " 
 
 Mr. Magrane laughingly assured the lady that her 
 Information was correct. 
 
 " Then the whole story about there being any-
 
 144 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 thing wrong is all rot, isn t it? " asked Tracey Harte, 
 who was invited because Mrs. Trevor-Allen was. 
 " Well, I m glad of it." 
 
 " Tracey," remarked the irrepressible young 
 woman, in a tone which could be heard only by the 
 one she addressed, and Mr. Magrane, very attentive 
 upon her, " you positively must learn how to make 
 love. The way you dispose of our latest and sweet 
 est morsel of scandal is too charming." 
 
 "I never did believe in the Swiss family story," 
 boomed a voice like a fog horn at sea, down the 
 table. It belonged to Mr. Starkhite, a solemn-faced 
 bachelor sitting in the seat of honor on the right of 
 Mrs. Deekman. 
 
 " Nor I, either," put in Mrs. Deekman, who feared 
 the conversation was taking a tack which would put 
 the subject aside. " But the story of a marriage in 
 Switzerland has more substance, I think." 
 
 " Oh, my bell ringers yet. Do give it to us ! " 
 cried Mrs. Trevor-Allen. 
 
 It was singular that, in view of the fact that Mrs. 
 Trevor-Allen was so irritating, she should be invited 
 everywhere. 
 
 " I don t understand your adherence to bell ringers, 
 Mrs. Trevor-Allen," loftily replied Mrs. Deekman. 
 
 " Why, do not all the Swiss ring bells ? " asked the 
 young woman with great innocence. "If they don t, 
 they are nothing to me. Mr. Trescotte s affairs lose 
 interest if he is not to have a Swiss bell ringer for a 
 wife." 
 
 Mr. Magrane, taking no part in the conversation,
 
 MRS. DEEKMAN S DINNER. 145 
 
 but watching his vis-b-vis, thought she was adopt- 
 ing ingenious means to end a conversation distaste 
 ful to her. 
 
 " One would suppose," said Mrs. Beestonmy very 
 heavily from her side of the table, " that the pecu 
 liar position of poor Mrs. Trescotte would excite not 
 only your interest but your sympathy, Mrs. Trevor- 
 Allen." 
 
 " Ah," replied that young lady with a very dan 
 gerous baby stare, " to which do you refer? The 
 Swiss I won t say bell ringer again, Mrs. Deekman 
 the Swiss Mrs. Trescotte or the New York Mrs. 
 Trescotte ? " 
 
 " I think there can be no question as to which I 
 mean the Mrs. Trescotte who has been. brought 
 up among us," replied Mrs. Beestonmy, with the air 
 of one who had sat heavily upon an offender. 
 
 " Oh, yes," responded Mrs. Trevor-Allen, not at all 
 abashed by the fact that all the conversation at the 
 table was suspended to listen to the covert duel. 
 " So I should, and for poor Mrs. Courtenay, too. 
 We all of us will be so distressed if it turns out that 
 one of the matches she made with such skill, defeat 
 ing us all, and for which we all envied her so much, 
 should turn out to be a fluke, won t we, dear Mrs. 
 Deekman?" 
 
 Mrs. Deekman was slow in responding to this 
 thrust. So also was Mrs. Beestonmy, and before 
 either of them could convince themselves of the 
 sarcasm of their intended replies, Tracey Harte 
 broke in :
 
 H6 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 " I don t believe there is anything wrong at all. 
 It s just gossip started because Trescotte and his 
 bride wanted to enjoy their honeymoon in a rational 
 manner downright, malicious gossip, I call it." 
 
 " Positively, Tracey, you are becoming dangerous," 
 whispered Mrs. Trevor-Allen. " The visible Mrs. 
 Trescotte of doubtful relation would be sacred to 
 you. But as a bride, concerning whose status there 
 is no doubt, she will become the object of your latest 
 adoration. You are very wicked ! " 
 
 "Mr. Harte wicked? Impossible!" simpered 
 Miss Alliger, a young lady approaching the age un 
 certain, who sat upon Tracey s other side. 
 
 " Positively wicked ! " repeated Mrs. Trevor-Allen. 
 "He would destroy the only pleasure left us poor 
 matrons the comforting consolation of well-regu 
 lated gossip." 
 
 " I do not consider it gossip," remarked Mrs. 
 Beestonmy, lugging in her artillery. " Here is a seri 
 ous question. Has Mr. Trescotte one wife or two ? " 
 
 " Oh," cried Mrs. Trevor-Allen, " if you put it that 
 way, all my sympathy will have to be for Mr. Tres 
 cotte." 
 
 Mrs. Beestonmy shot a stern look at the irrepres 
 sible young matron and continued : " If he had a 
 wife when he married poor Dorothy, then he im- 
 posed on the poor creature." 
 
 " I thought it was the settled belief of us married 
 women that we were all imposed upon our natural 
 condition, as sparks fly upward," again put in the 
 young woman.
 
 MRS. DEEKMAN S DINNER. 14? 
 
 Mrs. Beestonmy undertook to subdue Mrs. Trevor- 
 Allen by ignoring her, and continued : 
 
 " But we are told that Dorothy knew of the pre 
 vious marriage before she was engaged. That being 
 so, we have a duty to ourselves, our friends, and 
 society to perform." 
 
 " Duty with a big D, I suppose," remarked the 
 young woman with an approving nod. 
 
 " We should know the truth, and condemn such 
 relations deliberately entered into ! " 
 
 " But then the bishop sanctioned the marriage," 
 sweetly remarked the other. 
 
 " In ignorance of the facts," said Mrs. Deekman 
 loftily. 
 
 "Ah, yes," answered Mrs. Trevor-Allen. "But 
 since they opened house he has dined with the 
 Trescottes six several and distinct times. Is that 
 explicit and legal, Mr. Magrane?" 
 
 The lawyer bowed, his eyes dancing. He opened 
 his lips to speak, but Mrs. Deekman was replying: 
 
 " It may be true, yet you may rest assured that 
 the bishop knows nothing of the story." 
 
 " Pardon me," broke in Mr. Magrane, speaking for 
 the first time. " The bishop knew all there was to 
 know, without reservation, before he visited the 
 Trescotte s the first time." 
 
 The remark was like the dropping of a bomb 
 shell. Nearly all at the table knew that Mr. 
 Magrane occupied the relation of counsel to Mr 
 Trescotte, and therefore spoke with authority. 
 Silence followed his remark. It was Mrs. Trevor-
 
 I4 5 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 Allen who broke it, and in so doing voiced the senti 
 ments of all. 
 
 " Oh," she cried, " there is something, then ! Do 
 tell us?" 
 
 Her question had an effect contrary to her expec 
 tation. Thoroughly convinced that there was noth 
 ing in the gossip, she thought they had arrived at a 
 point when she could compel Mr. Magrane to give 
 it its quietus. 
 
 " Mrs. Trevor-Allen," replied the lawyer with a 
 quizzical expression, "a lady so intimately ac 
 quainted with legal maxims and legal phraseology, 
 as you appear to be, must also know that a counsel 
 is something like a father-confessor secrets he must 
 lock in his breast." 
 
 " Oh, dear," cried the lady, "the more disappoint- 
 ing you are, the more interesting you become. 
 How cruel ! You see us here, our appetites whetted 
 for gossip, and you refuse us bread ! " 
 
 Before he could reply the deep voice of Mr. 
 Starkhite boomed down the table. This time he 
 was permitted to finish his sentence. 
 
 " I never did believe in the Swiss family story, 
 but I am certain the story of a previous marriage in 
 Switzerland is true. It was an American girl he 
 married." 
 
 This was another bombshell. Mrs. Trevor-Allen 
 looked to Mr. Magrane to reply. In fact all did ; 
 but it was not his intention to discuss his client s 
 affairs. 
 
 The silence became oppressive, and it was again
 
 MRS. DEEKMAN S DINNER. 149 
 
 Mrs. Trevor-Allen who broke it, and with a question 
 to the lawyer. 
 
 " Are you a friend of Mr. and Mrs. Trescotte? " 
 
 " I am more I am their counsel." 
 
 There was strong emphasis on the word " their." 
 
 Booming over the table came the deep voice of 
 Mr. Starkhite again : 
 
 " I have known this for a number of years. The 
 fact was told me by the lady s father. I presume 
 she is dead." 
 
 Again all looked to Mr. Magrane, but he was 
 busy with the ice with which he had just been served. 
 
 " Or she may have been divorced ?" queried Mrs. 
 Deekman. 
 
 Still Mr. Magrane did not reply. Mrs. Trevor- 
 Allen, addressing Tracey Harte, said, with the hope 
 her words would reach Mr. Magrane : 
 
 f Here is a case where silence is more harmful 
 than speech." 
 
 The lawyer heard them and shot a significant 
 glance at the fair lady. " I believe Mr. Starkhite s 
 information to be entirely correct," he said impres 
 sively. " To discuss a client s affairs, even at a pri 
 vate dinner table, is a breach of faith upon the part of 
 counsel, as any lawyer will say. Lest, however, my 
 silence shall give color to the gossip that there is 
 something reprehensible in the relations of Mr. and 
 Mrs. Trescotte, I will say, I believe Mr. and Mrs. 
 Trescotte to be lawfully and truly married. That 
 also, is the opinion of the bishop, who proves his 
 faith by dining with them."
 
 15 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 The peculiar emphasis Mr. Magrane gave to the 
 words, " I believe," was unfortunate, since it, at 
 least, confirmed the belief that there was something 
 strange about the Trescotte relations, and that if he 
 and the bishop believed them to be right, he ac 
 knowledged there was something people could take 
 an opposite side upon. And the majority of those 
 present were anxious to take the opposite side, if 
 there was an opposite side to take. The discussion 
 at the table, however, passed away, with one more 
 attempt upon the part of Mrs. Beestonmy : 
 
 "Then if this is so," she asked, " why do these 
 young people keep themselves aloof from society?" 
 
 "I am counsel to them," said Mr. Magrane with 
 severe dignity, to the open delight of Mrs. Trevor- 
 Allen, " on matters of law. I do not counsel them 
 as to matters of society." 
 
 Before Mr. Magrane took his leave, which he did 
 shortly after joining the ladies, Mrs. Trevor-Allen 
 said to him : 
 
 " I have been thinking what an uncomfortable 
 time you have provided for the bishop." 
 
 " I ? How ? " 
 
 " By telling us gossip-loving matrons that he 
 knows all about the Trescotte affair." 
 
 " I m sorry for that. I ll warn the bishop." 
 
 " Do. No one who can snub us so artistically 
 as the bishop when he is prepared. And, Mr. 
 Magrane, tell him that if he ever was the friend of 
 Dorothy Trescotte now is the time when he must 
 prove it."
 
 MKS. DEEKMAWS DINNER. 151 
 
 "Of course I ll obey your command, but I don t 
 understand." 
 
 " Since we left the table we have decided that 
 there is something improper, and so we are going 
 to send Dorothy to Coventry." 
 
 " I see." 
 
 The eyes of the lawyer expressed a great deal of 
 admiration for the young woman, who, if incompre 
 hensible to many, was not to him. 
 
 " Oh, by the way, Mr. Magrane, can you give me 
 the number of Mrs. Trescotte s house ?" 
 
 Mr. Magrane laughed outright as he gave it to 
 her. 
 
 " You propose to begin to send her to Coventry 
 by calling upon her," he said. 
 
 " I like to be first in whatever I undertake. Mr, 
 Magrane, I receive on Tuesdays. I ll be pleased to 
 see you." 
 
 Mr. Magrane bowing his thanks, left her, wonder 
 ing where Mr. Trevor-Allen was, whether she was a 
 widow, and what that wicked old Trevor-Allen, with 
 his mint of money and thousands of acres, was to 
 her, little dreaming that the vivacious and winsome 
 woman was the wife of the sordid, wicked old man.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MRS. TREVOR-ALLEN S INTRIGUE. 
 
 THE Deekman dinner gave impetus to the 
 Trescotte scandal. It had served its purpose, and 
 justified its expense. What had previously been 
 suggested in ambiguous phrase was now expressed 
 in plain terms. The Swiss family myth passed 
 away under Mr. Magrane s admission that Mr. 
 Starkhite s information was accurate, but involved 
 in the admission was the certainty of something 
 mysterious in the Trescotte affair, which must, 
 therefore, be reprehensible. It was so asserted, at 
 all events, in club parlors as well as those of private 
 mansions. Mr. Magrane s caution had not helped 
 the Trescottes. His tone and manner, while assert 
 ing his belief in the legality of the marriage, had 
 carried conviction of a doubt to those anxious to 
 entertain a doubt. 
 
 The bishop was much harrassed because of his 
 possession of the secret, but, as Mrs. Trevor-Allen 
 had said, he was an adept in the art of snubbing. 
 He dismissed inquiries with the remark that since 
 the Church, which was himself, and the law, which 
 was Mr. Magrane, were satisfied with the existing 
 relation, it was no concern of the world, which was
 
 MRS. TREVOR-ALLEN S INTRIGUE. 153 
 
 Mrs. Deekman and Mrs. Beestonmy and their 
 followers. But the bishop s reticence t/nly added 
 fuel to the flames. 
 
 Echoes of the gossip reached Mrs. Courtenay, and 
 she thanked her stars that Hilda was safely married. 
 But she vowed vengeance and warfare upon those 
 instrumental in spreading the gossip. When she 
 heard of the Deekman dinner and the movement to 
 ostracize Dorothy, she determined to show that 
 she could bite. Mrs. Deekman and Mrs. Beestonmy 
 learned that she could, and very hard, too, for at the 
 annual meeting of the crack charity society, a seat 
 in the directory of which was passport to the inner 
 circles of society, these two ladies found the seats 
 which they had only achieved the previous year 
 filled by two friends of Mrs. Courtenay. They 
 were under no misapprehension as to the cause of 
 their reverse, and regarded it as a declaration of 
 war, and vigorous war it would have been could Mrs. 
 Courtenay have persuaded Trescotte to consent to 
 a reappearance in society. 
 
 Dorothy realized that Trescotte s fears were not 
 without foundation when she found that certain 
 people who had formerly smiled sweetly upon her, 
 who had stepped out of their way to be nice to her, 
 now discovered something of interest in the opposite- 
 direction when they met her. Of course all this 
 hurt her, but she dismissed it philosophically. But 
 she was to undergo one ordeal she had not ex 
 pected. She attended an afternoon symphony 
 concert at the Music Hall. Something had pre-
 
 354 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 vented Trescotte from accompanying her, and she 
 was alone. As she passed through the lobbies, 
 crowded with those who a month previously would 
 have made her passage one of delay and difficulty 
 by their salutations, she could not observe a single 
 welcoming or friendly face. Upon the contrary, 
 acquaintances looked over her head, and old friends 
 turned their backs upon her. Stung to the quick 
 as she was, her pride and lofty spirit served her. 
 If there was heightened color in her face, there 
 was regal haughtiness in her manner. She swept 
 through the mass of skirts with a superb arrogance 
 that would have delighted her mother, and wrung 
 the heart strings of her husband, for he would have 
 known what it had cost her to carry herself so 
 bravely. This was the culmination of the slights 
 and humiliations, and she knew now she had been 
 sent to Coventry. Of course she had expected it; 
 she had steeled herself for it ever since that day 
 when the revelation was made, but it was so much 
 harder to bear than she had thought it would be. It 
 is all very well to sit in the quiet of your chamber and 
 defy the world. It is very easy, then. But when 
 you feel its contempt, what a different thing it is! 
 How large the world is then, and how small you 
 are ! 
 
 Mrs. Trevor-Allen observed Dorothy s passage to 
 her box. Her point of observance was too remote 
 to have permitted her to have saluted Dorothy, if 
 she had desired to do so. But she clapped her 
 hands together lightly several times, causing an at-
 
 MRS. TREVOR-ALLEN S INTRIGUE. 155 
 
 tendant squire to ask if she was indulging in a pre 
 paratory canter for applause in the box. 
 
 " No," replied the incomprehensibility, " I am 
 merely relieving my overcharged feelings. I am 
 delighted with the delicious way I have been 
 snubbed." 
 
 " You have been snubbed? " inquired the youthful 
 admirer, looking around very fiercely as if he would 
 resent the snubbing. 
 
 " Yes ; I, as one of my order," replied the viva 
 cious young matron. " But don t endanger your 
 mind by trying to understand me. On the contrary, 
 find Tracey Harte for me. I will remain here." 
 
 " Am I, then, to be dismissed ? " dolefully asked 
 the youth. 
 
 " No. You shall attend me to my box, but 
 Tracey must do something for me." 
 
 The young adorer of young married women was 
 easily found. What Mrs. Trevor-Allen wanted him 
 to do was evidently a secret, for she took him aside 
 to communicate her commands. Moreover, it was 
 something at which he rebelled, for he replied 
 aloud : 
 
 " But, my dear Mrs. Trevor-Allen, my mother and 
 sisters have gone that way, too." 
 
 " Ah, charming ! " said the lady with the most 
 insolent drawl she could assume. " And you have 
 such ideas as they will permit you to have ! I make 
 it a point to select as my friends, men. I shall 
 regret to know that your visits upon me have 
 ceased."
 
 156 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 No man can endure the contempt of the woman 
 he admires. Tracey Harte wilted. 
 
 "Your threatened punishment is too great! "he 
 cried. " I yield." 
 
 She gave him her hand, and with it the ravishing 
 smile a woman, who has won a victory over that 
 poor thing called man, always bestows as a healing 
 balm, and whispered : 
 
 " You are learning to make love, Tracey." 
 
 Then she gave her arm to the youth who had 
 been patiently waiting for her, as Tracey, a good deal 
 troubled, turned from her. But at the moment she 
 saw an arrival which filled her with joy and surprise. 
 The arrival was the Countess Malcolm her dearest 
 friend, the playmate of her child days, the confidante 
 of her girl hours, the partner of her pranks, and the 
 participant in all her escapades, whose bridesmaid 
 she had been when the Earl of Malcolm was wed. 
 With an abandon which would have been deemed 
 vulgar in a daughter of the people, she flung her 
 arms about the American graft upon English stalk, 
 to be received with the same effusiveness. Out of 
 the whirl of kisses and " When did you comes," and 
 " How long have you been heres," the fact appeared, 
 that, contrary to the generally accepted notion, the 
 Earl of Malcolm had an idea, which was music, 
 Though their yacht had only arrived in port during 
 the previous night, the earl, having learned that 
 Paderewski was to play that afternoon, was 
 determined to hear him. 
 
 As they parted, Mrs. Trevor-Allen was seized of a
 
 MRS. TREVOR-ALLEN S INTRIGUE. 157 
 
 sudden thought and, turning back, rapidly communi 
 cated it to Lady Malcolm, who, to judge by her 
 reception of it, was delighted. 
 
 The intrigue Mrs. Trevor-Allen was engaged in 
 was made apparent at the close of the first part of 
 the programme. Rising from her seat in her box, 
 only less conspicuous than the one occupied by 
 Mrs. Trescotte, she made her way on the arm of 
 Tracey Harte, who had come to her, across the 
 house. People who were watching her nearly 
 all occupying the tier opined she was going 
 to the box of Lady Malcolm, who had been soon 
 discovered after her entrance, and whose friend 
 Mrs. Trevor-Allen was known to be. What was 
 their surprise, then, and horror, too, when they saw 
 her enter the Trescotte box ! 
 
 Dorothy, apparently absorbed in her programme 
 but really in her own bitter thoughts, was startled, 
 and not well pleased, with the intrusion. But her 
 visitor was not to be rebuffed. 
 
 " I saw you enter," she said, " in the lobby, you 
 know, but I was too far away to salute you. So I 
 have taken the first opportunity to come to you to 
 complain of your treatment of me." 
 
 "My treatment of you?" inquired Dorothy, 
 instantly appreciating the meaning of the ostenta 
 tious visit, and ready to cry with a right good will 
 when she saw the sympathy and kindness shining in 
 the blue eyes of her visitor. 
 
 " Yes," replied the lively lady. " Now, don t try 
 to think up excuses ; I will accept none. It was
 
 158 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 downright shabby. Three times have I called and 
 three times have I been turned from your doors. 
 Oh, I know," she rattled on, to enable Dorothy to 
 take possession of herself," I know you have thrown 
 society over, but that is no reason why you should 
 throw old friends over, who," there was a strange 
 break in her voice and a strange change in the 
 tone " who love you." 
 
 Dorothy was not yet in possession of herself, and 
 not daring to trust herself to speak, she furtively 
 sought the hand of Mrs. Trevor-Allen and pressed it 
 warmly. The young matron rattled on : 
 
 " I am coming to call to-morrow, and if I am 
 refused again I shall take the highly respectable 
 Downs by the ear and command him to lead me to 
 his mistress." 
 
 Dorothy laughed a little hysterically as she 
 replied : 
 
 " I must respect Downs ears and instruct him to 
 bring you to me when you call." 
 
 Mrs. Trevor-Allen had not been oblivious that her 
 presence in that box had created a commotion in 
 the other boxes. Tracey Harte had observed the 
 commotion and, though uncomfortable, bore the 
 ordeal well, in fact a little pleased with the idea that 
 it was rather devilish than otherwise. The young 
 woman who had made the situation improved her 
 opportunity. Taking her lorgnette, with insolent 
 elegance she swept the tier of boxes. From time to 
 time, as she recognized acquaintances gazing in her 
 direction, she lowered her glasses and bowed so
 
 MRS. TREVOR-ALLEN S INTRIGUE. 159 
 
 pronouncedly that to have refused to have 
 returned the salutation would have been no less 
 than an insult. Suddenly and with inimitable art, 
 she cried : 
 
 " Why, there s Agatha I beg her pardon, Lady 
 Agatha Malcolm. Tracy, go at once to her box, 
 presenting my name and the compliments of Mrs. 
 Trescotte, and ask her here." 
 
 " But, Lou," protested Dorothy, dropping uncon 
 sciously into the old school day name, " perhaps it 
 may not be agreeable to Lady Malcolm to visit me." 
 
 " Poh ! " contemptuously answered the young 
 matron, brushing aside the protest. " Tracey Harte, 
 do as I bid you. Vanish ! " 
 
 As the young gentleman disappeared, Mrs. Tre 
 vor-Allen continued in suspicious haste, " She knows 
 all that any of us know, and when she comes, if you 
 Lady Malcolm her, she ll not forgive you. It is all 
 very well for those who were not her intimate 
 friends, but for one who was as intimate as you 
 were, Aggie or Ag is what she wants to hear." 
 
 By this time Dorothy had realized that the 
 episode was one of careful arrangement that the 
 young lady beside her had witnessed her treatment 
 in the lobbies, and had determined to defeat an 
 organized humiliation of herself. Though her 
 sensitive soul shrank from so public an exhibition, 
 Dorothy felt that gratitude to Mrs. Trevor-Allen 
 demanded that she should assist her ally in her 
 impulsive and generous effort, and she also thought 
 it would be no more difficult to go through with
 
 i6o 
 
 than to sit alone and unnoticed in the box, con* 
 scious that the attempted humiliation had been 
 successful. 
 
 The commotion became a hubbub when society 
 saw Lady Malcolm on the arm of Tracey Harte, 
 with the earl, very distinguished looking, following 
 leisurely behind, conveyed to the Trescotte box, 
 and saw the effusive kiss the American countess 
 bestowed upon the lips of her old school friend. 
 
 Mrs. Trevor-Allen s triumph was now complete. 
 With that smile of sweet innocence, which Lady 
 Malcolm said always indicated mischief, she turned 
 to listen to the next part of the programme. 
 
 When the concert was over the party descended 
 to the pavement, Dorothy on the arm of the earl, 
 and so admirably did Mrs. Trevor-Allen maneuver, 
 that Dorothy drove Lord and Lady Malcolm to 
 their hotel. Tracey Harte was rewarded with a 
 seat in the carriage of the young matron. 
 
 If Trescotte had been a woman, tears, for a com 
 plexity of reasons, would have stood in his eyes 
 when he listened to Dorothy s recital of her after 
 noon s experience. As it was he was very tender 
 toward Dorothy. He left a card for Mrs. Trevor- 
 Allen in the evening. 
 
 Mrs. Trevor-Allen called on Dorothy the next 
 morning, and was conveyed by Downs to his mis 
 tress. It was on this occasion that the vivacious 
 young lady invited herself, Lord and Lady Mai- 
 colm, and Tracey Harte to dinner with the Tres- 
 cotte s the following week. She took supreme
 
 MRS. TREVOR-ALLEN S INTRIGUE. 161 
 
 satisfaction in informing young Beestonmy, after 
 she had sent her regrets for his mother s dinner on 
 the same night, that really, you know, she couldn t 
 decline the Trescotte invitation to meet Lord and 
 Lady Malcolm the Trescottes were so exclusive, 
 entertained so rarely, and then only the very nicest 
 people, that really, you know, an invitation from 
 them was like a command from royalty. 
 
 All of which coming to the ears of Mrs. Courte- 
 nay made the heart of that good lady warm to the 
 young woman, though she had heard of the blue 
 ribbon remark. She was heard by her husband to 
 say that, with such a lieutenant, if Trescotte were 
 not so foolishly obstinate, she could before the 
 end of the season make everyone bow down to the 
 Trescottes. Perhaps it was Trescotte s refusal to be 
 drawn into the contest that caused the gossip to 
 swell higher and higher. If one won t fight back, 
 one soon becomes the under dog. All this time 
 Mrs. Trevor-Allen was a frequent visitor at the 
 Trescotte house.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MR. ADAMS ARRIVES. 
 
 OSTRACISM was not prevented. Neither the 
 efforts of Mrs. Trevor-Allen, the dinner to the 
 Earl and Countess of Malcolm, the intimacy of 
 those noble people with the Trescottes, nor the 
 open countenance of the bishop, deterred society 
 from ignoring the young people. 
 
 If Dorothy grieved over this ostracism, she never 
 murmured. She realized that there were other peo 
 ple than those who arrogated all the superiority, 
 who brought as much refinement and culture and 
 far more intelligence and accomplishment to their 
 intercourse with people, and who were wholly indif 
 ferent to the opinions of that society which was 
 bent on ignoring her. A few of her old friends, 
 chief among whom was Mrs. Trevor-Allen, defied 
 society and laughed at it. 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay never was so haughty and arro 
 gant as she was this winter, and never gave such 
 elegant entertainments, nor such exclusive ones. 
 
 To all outward appearances the lives of the Tres- 
 cottes were happy and pleasant. None of the 
 rational pleasures which education and wealth 
 
 161
 
 MR. ADAMS ARRIVES. 163 
 
 could bring did they deny themselves, and they 
 ignored society as calmly as society ignored them. 
 December found them looking forward to an event 
 of importance. 
 
 Early in the month Mr. Adams, whose coming 
 had been long expected by Mr. Magrane, arrived. 
 Absent for many months upon the Pacific Coast, he 
 was wholly unacquainted with the events detailed 
 in the previous chapters. That he had once con 
 sulted Mr. Magrane as to his own marital position, 
 was warrant to the lawyer to open the subject 
 again. 
 
 " I seem to be the pivot on which all turns," 
 Adams said after the lawyer had finished a recital of 
 the events flowing from his discovery. " I don t 
 know what to do. I thought I had decided upon a 
 policy. But what you tell me sends me all adrift 
 again. I hold nothing against Mr. Trescotte. He 
 acted very handsomely in that Swiss affair a little 
 foolishly perhaps " 
 
 " He admits that," broke in Mr. Magrane, " and 
 as well, very youthfully." 
 
 " Oh," returned Adams, " his intention was all 
 right. He wanted to save Elsie from the conse 
 quences of her own wild act. The fault was with 
 the Hallocks father and son they are birds of 
 prey." 
 
 " Do you mean they laid a trap for him ? " asked 
 the lawyer, reverting to an early suspicion. 
 
 " No ; not a trap exactly. But they quickly com- 
 prchended a situation in which they saw oppor-
 
 1 64 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 tunity for an advantageous alliance," said Adams. 
 " You see, I ve often talked with Elsie about this 
 matter. You may blame Elsie for not insisting that 
 she was already married. But they had persuaded 
 her that she was not, that no real marriage had 
 taken place, and she was so young and innocent, 
 indeed, so ignorant, that she was wax in their hands. 
 The truth is, Mr. Magrane, you can t make a woman 
 believe that a marriage is a marriage unless it is 
 solemnized by a clergyman. They don t know and 
 don t care about the civil contract side of it. It is 
 either a sacrament, or it is nothing. If you can 
 persuade a woman to join you under the civil con- 
 tract idea, you can go further and persuade her to 
 join you without marriage of any kind. That s what 
 I have come to believe. I thought I had persuaded 
 Elsie that a marriage by a magistrate was as good 
 as any kind of a marriage, but deep down in her 
 heart she didn t believe it. She showed that, by 
 teasing me for a marriage by a clergyman, the first 
 four or five years. That was one of the troubles 
 between us the beginning of them, in fact. You 
 see, Mr. Magrane, I couldn t consent to that. If I 
 had, I would have admitted a doubt as to the regu 
 larity of our previous civil marriage. Then logically 
 I would have had to admit the priority of that Swiss 
 marriage with Trescotte. But I couldn t make 
 Elsie see it. To be married over again by a clergy, 
 man was the remedy for all ills." 
 
 "Yes," replied the lawyer, much interested in the 
 new tangle Adams was developing. " You would
 
 MK. ADAMS ARRIVES. 165 
 
 have admitted the invalidity of the civil, by con 
 senting to the performance of a churchly, marriage. 
 Yet, if you had yielded to quiet the qualms of con- 
 science of Mrs. Adams, I do not think you would 
 have been troubled." 
 
 " Well, I thought I would get into trouble by it. 
 Or, if I didn t, Elsie would." 
 
 Before this, the lawyer had noticed a tenderness 
 when Adams spoke of Elsie. 
 
 " Trescotte," continued Adams, moving his chair 
 closer to the lawyer s desk so that he could lean his 
 arm upon it, " acted very handsomely toward me 
 when in Berlin the time I carried off Elsie, you 
 know. Perhaps it would have been better for us all 
 if I hadn t, but that doesn t alter the fact that 
 Trescotte was very manly and straightforward. I 
 thought, then, that his action was due to his belief 
 that he had been badly treated by the Hallocks. 
 But when I came to talk with Elsie, and learned all 
 there was to be learned, I felt that it was because he 
 saw Elsie was really fond of me, and I of her. The 
 same sort of chivalry, you know, that made him 
 marry Elsie. On her part, Elsie has never accounted 
 satisfactorily to herself why she did not tell Tres 
 cotte of that marriage in Buffalo, before I turned 
 up. She tried to, that day they were married in 
 Switzerland, but then she was silenced by her father. 
 You would suppose that she would have told him 
 after she got from under her father s influence. But 
 I suppose then she could not summon the courage, 
 and so let things drift. Women are not like men.
 
 1 66 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 They say women can t keep a secret. What rot! 
 Give them a secret of their own and they ll preserve 
 it under the rack. Poor Elsie ! " 
 
 Again that note of tenderness and defense. 
 
 " You say," asked Adams, " that the woman Tres- 
 cotte married this year is a fine woman?" 
 
 " One in ten thousand," said the lawyer. "A brave, 
 loyal, true-hearted woman." 
 
 " I m sorry for her," commented Adams. 
 
 " I presume," said the lawyer, " Trescotte could 
 straighten out all this confusion by suing Mrs. 
 Adams for divorce, but that would involve every 
 body you, Mrs. Adams, the Trescottes, the Hal- 
 locks in a scandal." 
 
 " D - the Hallocks," cried Adams energetically, 
 " but I wouldn t like Elsie to be tortured by it. 
 You see, Mr. Magrane, the trouble is, that to the 
 world Elsie would come out of such a suit the worst 
 of all, and yet no more to blame than anybody else 
 who is mixed up in the confounded muddle." 
 
 He rested his head on his hand as he thought. 
 
 " She d be all right," he went on, as if answering 
 his own thoughts, " if it wasn t for her family. They 
 keep her stirred up all the time." 
 
 " Do you mean to say," asked the lawyer, pur 
 pose sounding in his voice, " that it was her family 
 which made the trouble between yourself and 
 wife?" 
 
 " You keep saying my wife," laughed Adams, " but 
 I suppose she must be distinguished someway. No, 
 I can t say that and be truthful. They contributed
 
 MR. ADAMS ARRIVES. 167 
 
 largely to the trouble, though. I think if it hadn t 
 been for them we might have settled our differences 
 in our own way. The first trouble came from Elsie s 
 pestering me to be married again. Perhaps I was 
 foolish, but you see I resented those five months 
 she spent with Trescotte. Her persistent pestering 
 never let it get out of my head." 
 
 " But you condoned those five months when you 
 took her from Trescotte," urged the lawyer. 
 
 " That s all right. I know I did. And having 
 done so, I should stand by it. That s all right. I 
 know I should. I suppose if I wasn t prepared to 
 do so, I should have left her where she was. But 
 you know when a man wants a certain woman, he 
 wants her, and he ll sacrifice everything, go through 
 everything, to get her ; forget everything but the 
 thought of having her. It s a kind of insanity, I 
 suppose. At all events, that s how it was with me, 
 and the opposition of the Hallocks made me all the 
 more determined to get her. But I kept this feel 
 ing of resentment against those five months with 
 Trescotte from Elsie until the first baby came the 
 boy. The fact was well, hang it ! it was Trescotte s 
 boy, and that was all there was about it. There was 
 the living, ever-present evidence of the five months. 
 I confess I hated the youngster, and I presume the 
 more I hated it the more Elsie s mother heart 
 pitied and loved the helpless thing." 
 
 A strange expression stole over the lawyer s face, 
 and he partially turned to his desk and gathered the 
 scattered papers together. Adams stopped, but as
 
 168 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 Mr. Magrane reassumed his listening attitude he 
 went on : 
 
 " I imagine I was rather a brute. But there it 
 was, and I wasn t perfect only human, you know. 
 I suppose she wanted sympathy, and went to her 
 mother for it ; the mother went with the story to 
 her husband ; Hallock came to me ; I resented his 
 interference and had a row with him. Well, the 
 result was we went apart." 
 
 The two remained silent much longer than either 
 supposed. There was an anxious frown and an ex 
 pression of sadness on Adams face. Finally the 
 lawyer said : 
 
 " Your wife expresses strong affection for you 
 has done so within a short time to my knowledge." 
 
 " You keep on saying my wife. Yet, she isn t, 
 you know," said Adams half inquiringly. 
 
 " I think she is," replied Mr. Magrane signifi 
 cantly. 
 
 Mr. Adams was aroused into mental activity. 
 
 " You mean something," he said sharply, " some 
 thing different from what you said when I consulted 
 you before." 
 
 " Yes, I do," replied the lawyer. " I told you 
 then I was expressing an opinion without much con 
 sideration. Since then a new phase of the question 
 has been presented to me, and I have concluded 
 that you are still truly married to Mrs. Adams." 
 
 The dominating expression upon the face of Mr. 
 Adams was that of surprise, but there was also 
 another blended with it, but whether of satisfaction
 
 MR. ADAMS ARRIVES. 169 
 
 or dissatisfaction it was difficult for Mr. Magrane to 
 tell. Perplexity, however, made its appearance as 
 the lawyer developed the idea of a common law 
 marriage of himself. When Mr. Magrane had 
 finished he waited for a remark, but as none was 
 forthcoming, he said ; 
 
 " The establishment of the fact of a common law 
 marriage between yourself and Mrs. Adams would 
 simplify matters for Mr. and Mrs. Trescotte." 
 
 "Which you are anxious to do?" said Adams 
 somewhat jealously. 
 
 " Yes," simply replied the lawyer ; " but not at 
 your expense, or of that of right or justice." 
 
 "I suppose," said Adams, "Trescotte can bring 
 some sort of a suit to get the matter determined." 
 
 " I don t think he will," replied the lawyer. "At 
 all events, not with my advice." 
 
 " Suppose I won t " but Adams stopped short 
 
 as another thought crossed his mind. " Elsie may 
 think of bringing suit against me ? " 
 
 " No, I don t believe it. Mrs. Adams sole hope 
 is a restoration of relationship with you. Her fear 
 is that you will bring suit. She loves you." 
 
 " Well, I won t, that s settled. I won t involve 
 her in any scandal. She s had trouble enough." 
 
 He was silent a moment and then said : 
 
 " I like that man Trescotte, always did. Of 
 course it is absurd after what I have said, but it is 
 because of the plucky way he tried to save Elsie 
 from the consequences of her wild freak. You say 
 he loves the woman he married ? "
 
 1 7 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM t 
 
 " I never saw deeper devotion." 
 
 Adams leaned back in his chair, balancing his 
 cane on his forefinger, a trick he was very expert at, 
 and which was always indicative of deep thinking. 
 
 " Suppose," he asked, " I refuse to bring suit and 
 that Elsie does, too, what is the result?" 
 
 " Matters must stand as they are, I suppose. So 
 long as you are separated from Mrs. Adams, main 
 taining the idea that the civil marriage was invalid, 
 there must always be a doubt as to the regularity of 
 the Trescotte marriage." 
 
 " Hum. But the separation took place before I 
 believed our marriage to be invalid, and Elsie knows 
 nothing about it as yet." 
 
 "But she does." 
 
 "Who told her? You? "bluntly asked Adams. 
 
 Mr. Magrane related the story of Mrs. Courtenay s 
 visit to Mrs. Adams, adding that it was done with 
 out his, Magrane s, knowledge. The other had 
 listened attentively. 
 
 " So," he cried quite excitedly, his eyes sparkling. 
 " Tried to get Elsie to set up a claim to Trescotte, 
 eh ? The little woman refused ? That s like her. 
 Hearts are always trumps with Elsie. I would have 
 bet in advance that that was just what she would 
 do." 
 
 " She told Mrs. Courtenay she would do nothing 
 to increase the misery of Mr. and Mrs. Trescotte, 
 and that she loved you too well to think of anyone 
 else than you as a husband." 
 
 " Well, what can I do?"
 
 MR. ADAMS ARRIVES. 17! 
 
 "You can accept your marriage as true and 
 binding and resume marital relations with Mrs. 
 Adams." 
 
 " But the boy ; hang it, Magrane ! I can t go on 
 pretending to be its father, and I must, unless I 
 reflect on Elsie. I could get over the whole affair 
 if it wasn t for the boy, for I ll confess the longer 
 I m away from Elsie the more I long for her. But 
 I can t get over the boy." 
 
 " It s difficult to advise you on that point." 
 
 The lawyer played with the locket on his chain 
 as he tried to see a way out of the difficulty. 
 Finally he said : 
 
 " See here, Adams, why not go to Trescotte and 
 have a free talk with him ? " 
 
 " What for ? " asked Adams, somewhat startled. 
 
 "Something may come of it." 
 
 " I ve got nothing to ask of him ; he has of me. 
 He ought to come to me." 
 
 " That is true," replied the lawyer. " But what 
 Trescotte has to ask is so great that, sensitive as he 
 is, he would shrink from seeking you. It would be 
 a generous act to meet him more than halfway. 
 An interview might lead to good results. Let me 
 arrange to have you meet him at three to-morrow, 
 and then come to me and see if there is not a 
 straight road out of this tangle." 
 
 Adams after some demurral consented, wonder 
 ing what Mr. Magrane hoped to gain by such an 
 interview.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 FORTUNE S FANTASTIC SPORTS. 
 
 AN hour before Mr. Adams was to meet Mr, 
 Trescotte, as arranged by Mr. Magrane, a young 
 woman alighted from a public hack and climbed the 
 steps of the Trescotte residence. A lad of eight or 
 nine years accompanied her. When the door was 
 opened to her, and she asked for the lady of the 
 house, she was told that Mrs. Trescotte was not at 
 home. 
 
 Evidently she accepted the phrase as an euphe- 
 
 "My call is on business, not a social one," she 
 said. 
 
 The servant, considering it a case for the con 
 sideration of higher authority, turned her into the 
 reception room and disappeared. A moment later 
 Downs, self-respectful and deferential, came and 
 repeated the information with the addition that 
 his mistress had gone out in the carriage and was 
 expected home every moment. 
 
 "I have come a long distance," explained the 
 young woman, "and my time is limitedo" 
 
 Downs, with that expertness born of long and
 
 FORTUNE S FANTASTIC SPORTS. 173 
 
 varied experience, determined that the visitor was a 
 lady, and suggested the propriety of waiting. This 
 was what the lady wanted, and Downs, thinking she 
 was wearied, and perceiving that she was cold, 
 brought her a glass of wine, a thoughtful attention 
 which emboldened the lady to ask if Mr. Trescotte 
 was at home or abroad. Downs began to have 
 doubts of the wisdom of his suggestion when the 
 lady, on being informed that the master of the house 
 was within doors, and would doubtless see her if she 
 desired it, showed so much agitation in her dis 
 claimer of such desire. But having doubts is not 
 always having warrant for action, so Downs did 
 nothing more than draw the curtains back and let 
 in a little more sunshine through those windows that 
 opened upon Central Park. 
 
 The lady waited. Ten or fifteen minutes passed 
 and there was a diversion. A quick step in the hall, 
 and Trescotte entered the room. Surprised to find 
 an occupant, he hesitated on the threshold an 
 instant, then bowed courteously and crossed the 
 room for the book he sought. Had he closely 
 observed the lady then, he would have seen that the 
 color left her face on his entrance, then surged back, 
 suffusing it. He was about to leave the room with 
 out speech, but he stopped, bending a perplexed 
 glance upon the lady. 
 
 "I presume you are awaiting the return of Mrs. 
 Trescotte?" 
 
 The lady bowed in response. 
 
 "I do not think she will be long now," he said
 
 174 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIMt 
 
 without losing his perplexed expression. "Can I 
 serve you in any way?" 
 
 Replying in the negative, the lady thanked him, 
 but in so low and strained a voice that the child 
 looked up at his mother in surprise. Trescotte left 
 the room, his face showing that memory suggested 
 he should know the lady, but had failed to tell him 
 who she was. 
 
 Then followed a period of undisturbed waiting, 
 during which time the lady had ample time to 
 recover from the agitation into which she had been 
 thrown by Trescotte s entrance, but which time she 
 spent in drawing the boy to her and earnestly study 
 ing his features. By and by a carriage was rapidly 
 driven to the front, and the watchful Buttons threw 
 open the door to admit two ladies. Downs appeared 
 and informed one of them that a lady was awaiting 
 her in the reception room. All of which the waiting 
 lady could hear through the open doors, but could 
 not see. 
 
 "Go to my room, Lou, and let Marie give you 
 some writing materials," she heard one lady say. 
 "And, Downs, let Connor prepare himself to carry 
 a note to the address Mrs. Trevor-Allen will give 
 him." 
 
 The owner of the voice entered the reception 
 room, holding in her hand the card Downs had given 
 her. 
 
 "Mrs. Adams?" 
 
 She was smiling and pleasant. 
 
 "Mrs. Trescotte, I believe?"
 
 FORTUNE S FANTASTIC SPORTS. i?5 
 
 The visitor arose, looking with keen but modest 
 scrutiny upon the mistress of the house. 
 
 "Pray do not rise," said Dorothy. :< Pardon me, if 
 I go to the fire. It is very cold, is it not?" 
 
 Mrs. Adams, again much agitated, murmured that 
 she had found it so, had been much chilled, but 
 the servant had thoughtfully given her a glass of 
 wine. 
 
 This exchange was followed by an embarrassing 
 silence. Dorothy drew off her gloves, holding her 
 pink and white fingers to the fire, wondering the 
 while who her visitor could be, and what her busi 
 ness could be about. Mrs. Adams nervously turned 
 her pocket-book over and over. The child, feeling 
 strange, hid behind his mother, peeping out to watch 
 the elegant lady bending over the coals. At length 
 Dorothy, who had been expecting her visitor to 
 open her business, began to think that distance 
 restrained her, and so took a chair nearer. 
 
 "I fear I have given you a long wait," she said in 
 the way of re-opening the conversation. 
 
 "I was in hopes," began the other, in a voice that 
 trembled a little, "that my card would convey such 
 knowledge of myself as to relieve me of the embar 
 rassment of telling who I am." 
 
 Dorothy, flinging a quick, intense look upon Mrs. 
 Adams, hastily left her seat, and going to the mantel 
 took from it the card she had laid upon it and 
 eagerly scanned it. She moved forward as if to 
 rejoin her visitor, stood still, in unbounded amaze 
 ment. She breathed rather than articulated :
 
 176 SHOULD SEE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 "You are " She got no farther. She was 
 
 lost in a multitude of conjecture. 
 
 Mrs. Adams lifted a piteous, appealing face. She 
 had found something condemning in Dorothy s 
 manner. 
 
 "Do not be angry with me," she pleaded. "I am 
 here only to assure you of my sympathy and friend 
 ship." 
 
 "Angry with you?" 
 
 All the rich sympathy of Dorothy s nature had 
 been stirred by the sweet face on which was written 
 so much suffering, and yearning for love and compas 
 sion. Her tone told Mrs. Adams she was not angry. 
 
 "It would have been very hard," continued Elsie, 
 as she wound her arm about the boy, who had crept 
 to her knee, "if you had repulsed me, for my com 
 ing to you has been so opposed." 
 
 Unacquainted with the purpose of her visitor, per 
 plexed in her endeavor to penetrate its meaning, 
 and embarrassed by the strangeness of the situation, 
 which even yet in its entirety she had not compre 
 hended, Dorothy did not know what to reply. 
 
 "You have something to tell me," she finally said. 
 
 "After all, it is very little," answered Mrs. Adams 
 with touching simplicity. "It is that I will never 
 harm you, or do anything to separate you from the 
 man you love." 
 
 Dorothy was more perplexed. 
 
 "I cannot understand you," she cried, and in her 
 perplexity her voice sounded sharply, as she was 
 instantly aware. "There is something to be ex*
 
 FORTUNE S FANTASTIC SPORTS. 177 
 
 plained," she continued in a gentler tone, "some 
 thing I should know. But this is not the place for 
 such a talk as we should have. Come." 
 
 But where should they go? Her own room was 
 occupied by Mrs. Trevor-Allen ; in the library, her 
 husband awaited an appointment ; in the dining 
 room, the servants were preparing lunch ; the salon 
 was too public. The music room was the only place. 
 
 "Come," she said ; "we will go where we can be 
 safe from interruption." 
 
 Mrs. Adams rose to follow, and stretched forth her 
 hand to take that of her boy, when the outer door 
 was opened and a man s voice was heard inquiring 
 for Mr. Trescotte. 
 
 Mrs. Adams stopped, fairly staggered, and caught 
 the back of the chair, and bending forward listened 
 with halting breath. Dorothy had stopped on hear 
 ing the voice, but only to permit the caller to pass 
 through the hall before they should enter it. She 
 turned to say so to Mrs. Adams, when she was 
 astounded to see the agitation of the other. 
 
 "Are you the gentleman to see Mr. Trescotte at 
 three?" asked the servant. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The servant led the caller down the hall. They 
 could be heard but hot seen from the reception room. 
 
 "Who was that?" eagerly asked Mrs. Adams, even 
 with feverish intensity. 
 
 "I do not know a caller upon Mr. Trescotte, 
 was Dorothy s wondering reply. 
 
 "It cannot be cannot be possible," exclaimed
 
 17* SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 Mrs. Adams, relaxing her strained attention, now 
 that the chance of a rencounter had passed. "I 
 thought it was my husband s voice, but that is 
 impossible impossible." 
 
 "Indeed, I should think so," replied Dorothy with 
 a reassuring smile. 
 
 It was remarkable to Dorothy, that Mrs. Adams, 
 who bore such a peculiar relation to her own life, 
 and whom she had never expected to see, should be 
 under her roof, but that at the same time her hus 
 band, Adams, separated a year from his wife, should 
 call to see Mr. Trescotte when the wife had called 
 to see her, was too fantastical even for the happen, 
 ings of chance. 
 
 "Rest assured," she continued kindly. "The 
 gentleman who passed has an appointment with my 
 husband. Had it been Mr. Adams, I should have 
 known it." 
 
 But Mr, Trescotte, uncertain as to the outcome 
 of the interview with Mr. Adams, had thought it 
 best not to speak of it to his wife. So, satisfying 
 Elsie, Dorothy led the way across the hall, through 
 the salon, into the music room. Here she sum. 
 moned a servant and, bidding him to prevent inter- 
 naption and to beg Mrs. Trevor- Allen to excuse her 
 iox a short time, closed the doors.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A NEW TANGLE. 
 
 ADAMS yielded to Mr. Magrane s suggestion 
 reluctantly. He was not convinced that good could 
 result from an interview. The trouble was that 
 Adams was not determined upon a course. He was 
 without a policy. Enterprises he had been nursing 
 a long time had, within the year, come to fruition, 
 and he had accumulated wealth. The administra 
 tion of it was difficult, because of the uncertain con 
 ditions of his marital relations. Viewing divorce as 
 one path out of the difficulty, yet he shrank from 
 the cutting of all the ties binding him to Elsie. He 
 had gone to Mr. Magrane expecting to be strength 
 ened toward divorce and found the lawyer advising 
 reconciliation. To this he was more than inclined. 
 But the boy Trescotte s boy that was the stum 
 bling-block. If the boy could be disposed of, the 
 way would be clear. Reconciliation meant the 
 assumption of the parentage of another man s off 
 spring. Against this he revolted. 
 
 It was in this indeterminate state of mind that he 
 met Trescotte. There was a great deal of embar 
 rassment upon both sides. When they exchanged 
 views Adams discovered that one consideration 
 
 179
 
 l8o SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 alone swayed Trescotte, and before that all others 
 were small ; Trescotte wanted the cloud upon the 
 marriage certificate of Dorothy lifted ; it was for 
 Dorothy s sake, not his own. Trescotte soon learned 
 that Adams was half-hearted in his desire for a 
 divorce from Elsie, and was deterred by fear of the 
 scandal that would result from such a procedure; 
 it was for Elsie s sake, not his own. There were 
 reserves upon the part of each which prevented 
 them from getting close to the subject they dis 
 cussed. Trescotte did not urge a restoration of 
 relationship between Adams and Elsie which would 
 make the common law marriage a fact, because there 
 was the five months he had spent with Elsie, which 
 seemed to him indelicate to call up. Adams did 
 not show Trescotte that the bar to restoration was 
 the boy, the consequence of that five months, be 
 cause Trescotte did not have knowledge of the child. 
 So the conference came to naught. Adams brought 
 it to an end by saying: 
 
 "Well, Mr. Trescotte, we re agreed upon one thing. 
 We don t want our wives involved in scandal. I ll 
 promise that whatever course I pursue will involve 
 no scandal. I suppose I could sue for divorce on 
 the ground of abandonment, and arrange to have 
 the validity of the first marriage to come up some 
 way for settlement. Frankly, I should like to have 
 the matter settled, for my own sake as well as 
 yours, and I had just as soon see the validity of it 
 established as not, for if it was, it would be no bar 
 to divorce proceedings."
 
 A NEW TANGLE. l8l 
 
 "I should be the last one, anxious as I am for 
 Mrs. Trescotte," promptly replied Trescotte, "to 
 encourage divorce proceedings. The establishment 
 of the legality of your marriage would be a very 
 happy thing for Mrs. Trescotte and myself. But 
 neither of us, I hope, are so lost to the rights of 
 others as to try to secure such a result through the 
 misery and unhappiness of Mrs. Adams. I am told 
 that Mrs. Adams entertains all her old affection for 
 you. I would much rather see a happy adjustment 
 of your difficulties." 
 
 Adams put out his hand and grasped that of 
 Trescotte warmly. 
 
 "I know you would," he said heartily. "You are 
 that kind of a man. But well, Mr. Trescotte, there 
 is something in the way that I cannot speak to you 
 about nothing," he added quickly, "that reflects 
 upon the good name or repute of Mrs. Adams." 
 
 Again that sensitiveness as to Elsie, It struck 
 Mr. Trescotte as pathetic. 
 
 While this was going forward in the library, Doro 
 thy and Elsie were conferring in the music room. 
 
 "You say," said Dorothy after she had closed the 
 doors, "that you have come to give me the assur 
 ance of sympathy; that you will do nothing to sepa 
 rate me from the man I love. Am I in danger r 
 separation ?" 
 
 "Are you not?" asked Elsie in some wonder. 
 
 "I do not think so." 
 
 "Your mother said you ought to be, and pleaded 
 with me to claim Mr, Trescotte as my husband "
 
 1 82 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 "My mother?" interrupted Dorothy, scarcely 
 believing that she had heard aright. 
 
 "Yes ; I refused, and immediately, believe me, Mrs, 
 Trescotte, immediately." 
 
 "Where?" demanded Dorothy. "Where did you 
 see my mother?" 
 
 The story that Mrs. Courtenay had carefully kept 
 to herself came out, and Dorothy knew of the rapid 
 journey to Buffalo, and the defeat of her mother. 
 Dorothy was angry. Angry because of her mother s 
 unwarrantable methods, and because of the cruelty 
 to the crushed woman who had come to her in such 
 simplicity and confidence. She found upon inquiry 
 that all this time Elsie had remained in the belief 
 that her marriage to Adams was invalid, and that 
 Adams being free, hope of reconciliation was lost. 
 Mourning and grieving over this in secret, the spirit 
 of the once madcap, reckless, gay Elsie Hallock had 
 been crushed. 
 
 With earnestness and enthusiasm almost, Dorothy 
 presented the common law marriage theory, trying 
 to persuade Elsie that hope of reconciliation was far 
 from lost, since she was still the wife in law and in 
 fact. It is doubtful whether Elsie comprehended 
 Dorothy s important communication, for she shook 
 her head sadly and seemed to regard Dorothy s in 
 formation as only another complication in the con 
 fusion in which she was involved. But whether or 
 not Elsie comprehended, Dorothy got back to the 
 assertion that there was no danger to her of separa 
 tion from Mr. Trescotte.
 
 A NEW TANGLE. 183 
 
 To this Elsie replied that she would not permit 
 herself to be used to that end. 
 
 "Used?" queried Dorothy. "There is something 
 more in your mind?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Elsie. "This affair is so com 
 plicated that it is difficult to say all you want to. 
 This is what I want to say to you what I have 
 come to you from Buffalo for. My brother has 
 learned on good authority that Mr. Adams is here 
 in the city preparing to sue me for divorce. I fear, 
 though my brother denies it, that it is by arrange 
 ment with my brother or with my father, and that 
 they mean to establish that there was no marriage 
 between us, so that it will come down to the mar 
 riage in Switzerland. That means they would try 
 to force me to claim Mr. Trescotte as a husband." 
 
 Dorothy winced under this and looked very 
 severe. 
 
 "That is what your mother wanted me to do. 
 But I refused her, and I never will consent." 
 
 "But," said Dorothy, a little hard, though she 
 tried not to be. "What would it serve them? Mr. 
 Trescotte would resist." 
 
 "He is very rich, is he not?" asked Elsie inno 
 cently. "Oh, the sordidnessof it ! It is a miserable 
 thing, and before the scandal is out I came here to 
 save you this much misery and to tell you I will be 
 no party to it. I have too much sympathy for you, 
 for I know what it is to be torn from the man you 
 love. I could not stay at home quietly until I had 
 come and told you this. It seemed to be a duty."
 
 1 84 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 She was so pathetic in her earnestness that Dor 
 othy, to conceal her own tears, bent over her and 
 kissed her and whispered: "I know that; I m sure 
 of it." 
 
 Suddenly a thought crossed her mind and it must 
 be admitted accompanied with a pang of jealousy. 
 
 "Have you seen Mr. Trescotte?" 
 
 "He came into the reception room when I was 
 there," replied Mrs. Adams somewhat distressed. 
 "But he did not recognize me and I did not make 
 myself known. I do not want to see him. It is 
 embarrassing enough to come to you." 
 
 Dorothy bent her head in a tumult of rushing 
 thought and alarm. She did not fear separation 
 from Trescotte. She believed Mrs. Adams and 
 trusted Trescotte, but she was apprehensive. There 
 was the threatened scandal, the publicity, the gossip, 
 and while she was very grateful to Mrs. Adams and 
 felt sincere, active sympathy, still she wished Mrs. 
 Adams was out of the house, out of all chance of 
 meeting Trescotte. She wondered for a brief instant 
 if a desire to see Trescotte was not really the mean 
 ing of Elsie s visit, but she dismissed the idea as 
 unworthy herself and of Mrs. Adams. 
 
 The little boy, tired of a conversation from which 
 he could extract no amusement, sat himself on the 
 floor between the two women and played with the 
 scattered sheets of music that had fallen from the 
 stand. Had Dorothy known the relation this inno 
 cent lad bore to the tangle they were all involved 
 in, what a complicating force he was in Elsie s prob-
 
 A NEW TANGLE. 185 
 
 lem, and might become in hers, possibly she might 
 have given more attention to the little one playing 
 so unobtrusively. As it was, too much absorbed in 
 the ideas her conference with Elsie had given birth 
 to, she was only dimly conscious that a child Mrs. 
 Adams child was there. 
 
 "You say," she asked suddenly, "you still love 
 Mr. Adams?" 
 
 "With all my heart." 
 
 "Yet you are separated from him." 
 
 "I could not help it." 
 
 Wooed into confidence by Dorothy s sympathy 
 and kindliness, Mrs. Adams began to tell the reason. 
 Almost immediately she saw it involved the pater 
 nity of the little child Trescotte s child. She 
 recoiled from telling Trescotte s wife the fact, not 
 because she feared for herself, but instinct informed 
 her that it would be a lightning stroke to the one 
 who had risked so much to remain with the man of 
 her love, to learn that that man was the father of 
 a child of which she was not the mother. Elsie 
 wondered how she could have brought the child 
 there why the fact that she was to visit the wife 
 of its father had not occurred to her. She up 
 braided herself for her thoughtlessness and became 
 filled only with one thought, and that, to leave the 
 house as soon as possible. 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Adams," said Dorothy, who had been 
 following her own thoughts, "we all of us will fear 
 a suit if it is to open our history to the world. And 
 we ll hope that it will not come, but upon the con-
 
 186 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 trary, that you and your husband may be brought 
 together again. Perhaps Mr. Trescotte can do 
 something to show Mr. Adams that a marriage does 
 exist between you, and that that in itself will bring 
 about a reconciliation." 
 
 "I fear not," Elsie said. "There are some things, 
 apparently, Mr. Adams will not forgive. If you feel 
 I am sincere when I say nothing will persuade me 
 to interfere with your happiness, I am content. I 
 expect no happiness in my own life. But it will be 
 a little less miserable if I can feel that I have pre 
 vented your separation. I owe this to Mr. Tres 
 cotte, for he tried, at his own sacrifice, once to serve 
 me in the highest manner a man can serve a woman. 
 I want him to know I have not forgotten what he 
 did then ; that I am filled with remorse that I was 
 so weak at that time. And now that I have met 
 you, I want you to know for yourself that nothing 
 I may do will ever interfere with your happiness. 
 And if you do, I will go home, perhaps never to see 
 ycu again." 
 
 She arose to end the interview to escape with 
 her boy from the house of his father. Dorothy rose 
 with her, and threw open the door leading into the 
 salon. 
 
 Mrs. Trevor-Allen stood within. 
 
 "I was tired of being alone," she laughed, "so I 
 came down into this favorite room of mine." 
 
 Dorothy was making some commonplace apology 
 for having left her so long alone, when she heard he* 
 husband s voice outside the door.
 
 A NEW TANGLE. 187 
 
 "I hear my wife s voice in the salon" he said. 
 Let me present you." 
 
 The next instant Trescotte, followed by Adams, 
 entered. 
 
 "Elsie! My God!" cried Adams. 
 
 "George, I 
 
 Elsie nearly toppled over in her agitation, and, 
 indeed, would have fallen had not Mrs. Trevor-Allen 
 put forth an arm to save her. 
 
 "Elsie," cried Trescotte, with a sudden rush of 
 recollection, "what brings 
 
 In his surprise he moved toward Elsie and the 
 movement brought him to the side of the child 
 clinging to his mother s skirts. He was interrupted 
 by Mrs. Trevor-Allen, who uttered a cry of surprise. 
 
 "Look!" she said, pointing to the child. "The 
 resemblance. It is marvelous!" 
 
 "And that boy is with her!" cried Adams bitterly. 
 "Your boy, Trescotte for it is yours !" 
 
 "His?" 
 
 The question came from Dorothy in a blending of 
 contempt, indignation, and incredulity. The little 
 child began to whimper when he found himself the 
 object of all these intense and agitated looks, and 
 tried to hide his face in the skirts of his mother. 
 But Dorothy had seen the resemblance, too pro 
 nounced to be denied. 
 
 "Answer him," she said commandingly, as she 
 turned to Trescotte. "Is that your child?" 
 
 Amazed and bewildered, Trescotte replied 
 
 "I don t know."
 
 1 88 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIMt 
 
 Adams laughed bitterly. 
 
 The weight of Mrs. Adams became heavier on 
 the arm of Mrs. Trevor-Allen. 
 
 "She has fainted," quietly remarked that lady. 
 
 Trescotte led Adams out of the room. Dorothy, 
 with a heart full of bitterness, joined Mrs. Trevor- 
 Allen in the effort to revive the mother of her 
 husband s eldest child.
 
 BOOK IV. THE TRIUMPH OF THE BLUB 
 RIBBON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MOMENTOUS EVENTS. 
 
 IN the following February occurred three events 
 of concern, all within a week and in the order named : 
 
 A baby, a little girl, came to the house of Tres- 
 cotte; 
 
 Mrs. Trevor-Allen became a widow, her husband 
 having died after a brief illness; and 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hermann Waldemar returned from 
 Germany to begin a career of fashion in New York. 
 
 The first event again put into malignant activity 
 the gossiping tongues, which, having accomplished 
 the ostracism of Mr. and Mrs. Trescotte, had stilled 
 from sheer weariness. And Mrs. Courtenay, learn 
 ing of its renewal, and knowing of the near approach 
 of her other daughter, wondered, with a little trepi 
 dation, what the effect would be on Waldemar. 
 When she saw Hilda, however, her concern was of 
 another kind. A marvelous change had come over 
 Hilda. What had happened in the four months of 
 
 189
 
 19 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 her wedded life? This was a question Mrs. Courte- 
 nay frequently asked herself, without satisfactory 
 answer. The fire was gone from Hilda s eyes and 
 there was listlessness in her manner. It was not 
 because of the Trescotte gossip, for Hilda languidly 
 approved Dorothy s course, and shocked her mother 
 by remarking indifferently that without the common 
 law marriage phase, she would have approved it. 
 The promise of social triumphs did not appeal to 
 her. She accepted the programme of social festivi 
 ties Mrs. Courtenay had laid out for her, with the 
 comment that they were the penalties a bride must 
 endure. She was interested in nothing. Only when 
 there were strangers present, or some of her old rivals 
 on the matrimonial course, was anything seen of 
 that gallant and haughty bearing of the favorite 
 Courtenay daughter. Discreet questioning failed to 
 elicit information. She had enjoyed her trip, she 
 had been charmingly received by Waldemar s noble 
 relatives, and she had been noticed and compli 
 mented by the emperor. Had Waldemar been 
 attentive? Oh, yes, he had been all that had been 
 necessary. And here inquiries ended. Mrs. Walde 
 mar had no complaints to make, and Hilda Courte 
 nay had passed away. 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay took up a course of silent observa 
 tion, but with little, if any, more success. What she 
 did learn did not please her. She found that Wal 
 demar took up his life in New York just as he had 
 laid it down to go abroad on his wedding trip. His 
 stable, his club, and his other pleasures did not Ian.
 
 MOMENTOUS EVENTS. 191 
 
 guish for lack of his attention. Though Mrs. Wal- 
 demar s chair in their box at the autumn season of 
 opera was always occupied, that of Hermann was 
 nearly always vacant. But as Hilda did not com 
 plain, Mrs. Courtenay could not interfere. The 
 world said behind Hilda s back that Hilda Walde- 
 mar had grown unbearably insolent since her 
 marriage. 
 
 Hilda went to see Dorothy within twenty-four 
 hours of her landing and frequently thereafter. She 
 was more tender and affectionate with her sister than 
 was her wont, and nestling the little stranger in her 
 arms, dropped tears on its face she was ashamed to 
 show. Dorothy saw the change in Hilda and could 
 not tell what it was. A change in Dorothy was 
 noticed by Hilda and neither could she penetrate 
 that. Whatever these changes were they drew the 
 two sisters closer together than they had ever been 
 before. 
 
 The first time Hilda went to see Dorothy she met 
 Trescotte in the hall as she was leaving. 
 
 "I want to ask you some questions," she said, 
 after she had lifted her cheek to be kissed by her 
 brother-in-law. 
 
 Divining what they would be, Trescotte took her 
 into the library and closed the door. 
 
 "There has been some trouble about your mar- 
 riage, Henry," she said, as she seated herself in a 
 large easy-chair. "Tell me about it." 
 
 "You have heard nothing, then?" he asked. 
 
 "Only enough to know there was something," she
 
 1 92 SffOt/LD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 replied. "Hermann s father wrote a mere mention 
 of it while we were abroad." 
 
 Trescotte told her the story without color or argu 
 ment, ending with the common law marriage aspect. 
 
 "I am glad you have told me the story," she said 
 simply when he had finished. "I uphold you and 
 Dorothy in everything you have done. Happiness 
 is worth more than all society can give you ten 
 times more. She is happy, isn t she?" 
 
 Trescotte s face was very sober as he replied : 
 
 "I don t think I ever saw anyone happier than she 
 was until the occurrence of a certain event in Decem 
 ber. Then there was a change in her. I am not 
 prepared to say that it affected her happiness, but 
 it did make a change, though Dr. Balkin told me to 
 dismiss the idea, as it was only a symptom. Doctors 
 explain everything by symptoms." 
 
 Hilda looked at him searchingly for a moment. A 
 spasm of pain, quickly repressed, passed over her 
 face as she said : 
 
 "You are a very good man, Henry." 
 
 She rose from her seat. As she walked to the 
 door, she said : 
 
 "When Dorothy is well enough I will give a din 
 ner. Some friends are coming over to whom I must 
 be nice. They will be here about the time Dorothy 
 can go out." 
 
 "You know we do not go into society at all," sug 
 gested Trescotte. 
 
 "You make a mistake," said the bride bitterly. 
 "Society! Society fs a spaniel. Whip it and it
 
 MOMENTOUS EVENTS. 193 
 
 cringes at your feet. What a contempt for it I 
 have." 
 
 She left Trescotte amazed at her mood. 
 
 The change Trescotte had spoken of as apparent 
 in Dorothy had been noticed by Mrs. Trevor-Allen 
 as well. After the event of the meeting of Mr. and 
 Mrs. Adams in the Trescotte house on that Decem 
 ber afternoon, there could be no withholding of con 
 fidence from that lady. She had learned enough to 
 make knowledge of all necessary. And when Mrs. 
 Adams left the house, all was told her by Trescotte 
 at Dorothy s request. 
 
 That afternoon was as embarrassing as any Tres 
 cotte had ever passed. It was more so than the 
 morning of nine years previous, in that little town 
 of Switzerland, when he had married Elsie, for then 
 he saw a way out. Now he didn t. Adams had left 
 immediately upon the denouement. Mrs. Adams 
 was compelled to remain until she recovered strength 
 enough to go. When she did, she was accompanied 
 by the discreet and trusty Downs, who went with 
 her to the station and saw her comfortably bestowed 
 on her journey to Buffalo. In the meantime Tres 
 cotte was immured in his library, alone with his 
 thoughts, left to ponder upon the extraordinary 
 happenings of chance ; upon the singular situation of 
 his wife, Dorothy, ministering to the needs of his 
 once wife, Elsie; of the child, of whose existence he 
 had no knowledge until so rudely and shockingly 
 revealed to him, and who he now knew was the inno 
 cent cause of wrecking the happiness of two lives.
 
 194 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM f 
 
 These thoughts weighed heavily upon a man of Tres- 
 cotte s make-up. What course was he to pursue? 
 Existing, the boy was a bar to a reconciliation of 
 Mr. and Mrs. Adams. His interview with Adams 
 had shown how fond Adams was of Elsie. The 
 boy his boy stood in the way. And he had "lot 
 failed, amid his amazement at the revelation that he 
 was the father of a lad eight years old, to notice the 
 change in Dorothy s tone and manner following that 
 revelation. Was the unfortunate child to wreck the 
 happiness of Dorothy and himself, as he had that of 
 Adams and Elsie? What could he do to avert it? 
 In fact, what could he do in any direction? Elsie 
 loved the lad, perhaps all the more because he was 
 so unfortunate and the cause of so much trouble. 
 That was the way with mothers. Suppose Elsie 
 were willing to give up the lad, and he took him, 
 would not Dorothy look upon him from her stand 
 point, as Adams had from his? What happiness if, 
 while the child was pure and innocent, the Almighty 
 in his mercy would take the boy to himself. The 
 thought did not seem impious, and it would be such 
 
 solution of the vexed problem. 
 
 When Mrs. Adams had gone Dorothy brought 
 Mrs. Trevor-Allen to Trescotte and requested him 
 to tell their story. 
 
 When he had finished, before any remark could 
 be made by Mrs. Trevor-Allen, Dorothy spoke, her 
 manner cold and her voice hard : 
 
 "And the boy? You have omitted all mention of 
 him."
 
 MOMENTOUS EVENTS. 19$ 
 
 "I did not know of his existence until this after 
 noon." 
 
 "I am glad to hear you say so," said Dorothy, 
 still in her hard, severe tone. "To have learned 
 that you knew of his existence and had been so 
 indifferent to him would have lessened you in my 
 esteem." 
 
 Trescotte looked at Dorothy so astounded and so 
 pained that Mrs. Trevor-Allen was filled with pity 
 for him. 
 
 "And now that you do know that he exists, what?" 
 demanded Dorothy. 
 
 "It complicates matters," replied Trescotte sadly. 
 
 "Will you take him to your own care?" Her 
 question was asked almost fiercely. 
 
 "He has a mother." 
 
 "And I am not that mother! " 
 
 Trescotte, too much distressed to appreciate at 
 its full significance this cry, went to the window and 
 looked out. But light flooded the mind of Mrs. 
 Trevor-Allen. She saw that a profound jealousy 
 possessed Dorothy ; that with all the force of her 
 deep love for Trescotte, she resented the inexorable 
 fact that her husband was the father of a child of 
 which she was not the mother. It was a strange 
 manifestation. Dorothy knew of the previous mar 
 riage, she knew of the five months Trescotte hao 
 lived with Elsie, and had not resented it. Indeed 
 she had received Elsie without a pang of jealousy. 
 Yet when the boy, a natural issue of that brief union, 
 was presented she was transformed. Trescotte
 
 196 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM f 
 
 wondered at this ; he was a man. Mrs. Trevor- 
 Allen did not ; she was a woman. 
 
 Dorothy left the room. Trescotte, hearing the 
 rustle of her skirts, turned and would have restrained 
 her. Mrs. Trevor-Allen put up a warning finger. 
 and in a low tone said : 
 
 "Leave her to me." 
 
 She followed Dorothy. No sooner had they 
 reached her room than Dorothy, flinging herself into 
 Mrs. Trevor-Allen s arms, burst into tears. 
 
 The jealousy of women is incomprehensible. It 
 has no reason. It neither thinks nor argues. It 
 simply is, and its vision is distorted. It sees what 
 no person can. It imagines, and its imaginings are 
 pitiful because the effects are real in the sorrow and 
 misery they bring. That which is absurd to others 
 is plausible to a jealous woman. With a woman so 
 possessed one cannot reason. The best and noblest 
 of their sex are subject to these attacks, and when 
 attacked are without sense. Ridicule or condemna 
 tion is the only remedy. Mrs. Trevor-Allen under 
 stood this. 
 
 Waiting until the paroxysm was exhausted, Mrs. 
 Trevor-Allen led Dorothy to a chair and sat her 
 down. 
 
 "You must be ill," she said, "or you would not act 
 so foolishly." 
 
 Dorothy, expecting sympathy, looked up indig 
 nantly. 
 
 "I mean it," went on her friend gravely. "You 
 have no right to worry Mr. Trescotte, troubled as
 
 MOMENTOUS EVENTS. 1 97 
 
 he is with a great sorrow. What sympathy did you 
 give him when he needs so much?" 
 
 Dorothy stared at her censor. Jealousy is selfish. 
 Dorothy had a dim realization of the truth. 
 
 "What is the highest duty of a wife? Is it not to 
 sympathize with her husband when he is in trouble, 
 to comfort him? It is especially your duty, sur 
 rounded as you are with such love and tenderness." 
 
 "That boy is his," murmured Dorothy, and imme 
 diately conscious of the confession involved in her 
 words. 
 
 "He does not deny it." 
 
 "Is that nothing?" whimpered Dorothy. 
 
 "Nothing that you have to complain of," calmly 
 went on Mrs. Trevor-Allen. "Your time to com 
 plain was when Mr. Trescotte told you he had lived 
 for five months with Mrs. Adams as his wife. When 
 in the knowledge of it you accepted him, you for 
 gave everything, even the inevitable result of such a 
 union." 
 
 "OLou!" cried Dorothy. "You do not under 
 stand me." 
 
 "I understand everything, even that which you 
 think, but are ashamed to say. I have little patience 
 with you. Here you are, blessed as few women are, 
 with a superior man for a husband, who loves you 
 from the bottom of his noble heart, who surrounds 
 you with all that love can give you and the protec 
 tion tenderness can invent who makes your life a 
 poem, one continued strain of delightful music, 
 whose devotion is constant and never ceasing, and
 
 19^ SHOULD SHE HA VE LEFT HIM? 
 
 you have the audacity, the wickedness, to harbor 
 bitter thoughts, instead of giving him that sympathy 
 he so much needs when so afflicted. It is the most 
 pitiable exhibition of ingratitude I have ever seen. 
 It is selfish, it is contemptible, and to me distress 
 ing, because I have revered you as a noble woman. 
 It is petty jealousy, and I am ashamed of you." 
 
 "Lou Graham ! " cried Dorothy, springing to her 
 feet, her eyes blazing, going back to the girl-day 
 name of her friend. "I ll not listen to you!" 
 
 "You must !" insisted the other stoutly. "It is 
 because I am your friend that I say what I do. 
 What right have you to quarrel with Fortune? Did 
 you not marry where you loved? Did you not 
 choose for yourself? Have not flowers been strewn 
 in your path? Have not love and tenderness 
 enveloped you? Look at me at me, and be un 
 happy, if you dare. Forced to marry an old man 
 whose life reeks with the filth of it ; sacrificed to 
 save my family from the poverty he could put it 
 in, and the station from which he could hurl it ; 
 compelled to put aside the romance that could 
 bring joy and sweetness into my life, to see two 
 lives wrecked, to live without joy and without hope. 
 to know the sacrifice I had made was regarded as 
 treachery to the love I had confessed and the prom 
 ises I had pledged, to see the man I loved and who 
 loved me, sink and pass away, believing that sordid 
 ambition had made me faithless, without the power 
 to explain, and then tell me what you have to com 
 plain of? What is it? What? Your husband has
 
 MOMENTOUS EVENTS. 199 
 
 discovered that he is the father of a child five years 
 older than your acquaintance with him!" 
 
 Dorothy, with outstretched arms, her face tender 
 with sweet pity, went to her friend, crying : 
 
 "Forgive me. And you wear your life so 
 bravely."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MRS. TREVOR-ALLEN S PLAN. 
 
 THE revelation of the sorrow and bitterness of 
 Mrs. Trevor-Allen s life drew Dorothy more closely 
 to her friend. The latter knew her friend envied her 
 the happiness of her life, was proud of it, yet pitied 
 her friend for what was denied her. While this was 
 all true, an intangible, impalpable something had 
 come up between Dorothy and Trescotte. Dorothy 
 felt it, because it had existence in herself. Trescotte 
 felt it, because he noted its existence in Dorothy. 
 It was difficult to establish what and where it was. 
 There was the same attention, the same tenderness, 
 the same devotion, the same love upon the part of 
 Trescotte. There was the same admiration, the 
 same confidence, the same trust, the same love on 
 the part of Dorothy. It was the shadow of the 
 boy. He did not carry it with him when he went 
 away with his mother. Shadows are intangible. 
 How was it shown? Ah, that was as impalpable as 
 the thing itself. Both were conscious of it, though 
 it was not mentioned by eithen When two lives 
 are completely mingled, the shade of an expression 
 and the glance of an eye have an eloquence words 
 cannot express. Dorothy could not pardon fate fo*
 
 MRS. TREVOR-ALLEN S PLAN. 2OI 
 
 giving to another woman what she believed should 
 have been hers. Such emotion could be possessed 
 only by a woman passionately loving her husband. 
 While Dorothy loved her husband, admired him, 
 held him guiltless, yet she vented her deep disap 
 pointment on him. I do not attempt to account 
 for this. To do so would be to confess myself a 
 fool. He who attempts to account for the workings 
 of the female heart is a fool. All he can hope to do 
 is to detect its operations and hold them up to 
 view, and ninety times in a hundred he fails at 
 that. Explain? Explain the motive power of the 
 stars in their heavenly courses. The female heart 
 is one of God s incomprehensibilities. 
 
 When the baby came there was another change. 
 Something of the old something slid out of sight. 
 Trescotte was very proud and tender. And Doro 
 thy was very proud and tender, because he was 
 proud. Perhaps if Mrs. Trevor-Allen could have 
 been a witness of their exchanges of affection she 
 would have plumed herself upon having contributed 
 to it by the drastic potion she had administered to 
 Dorothy. But she did not. 
 
 Duty called her to the bedside of the man whose 
 name she bore. There was no love, for she pro 
 fessed none, behind that duty, but she performed it 
 with all the fidelity love could inspire. A frame 
 weakened by years of self-indulgence could not at 
 its advanced age withstand the insidious attack of 
 disease, and he died, leaving her his vast fortune, 
 as testimony, his will said, to his admiration of her
 
 202 SHOULD SHE HA VE LEFT HIM? 
 
 as a woman, and her excellence as a wife. This will 
 created astonishment, and caused the matron 
 mothers, who recognized in the new widow a formid 
 able quantity in their problems, over their teacups 
 to comment : "No fool like an old fool," and Mr, 
 Magrane to say, with the applause of Mr. Trescotte, 
 "Whatever the old fellow was, he appreciated a true 
 woman when he found her." Mr. Trevor-Allen was 
 buried, and society attended in large numbers, just as 
 if he had been the wisest and best of men. And Mrs. 
 Trevor-Allen in robes of black, donned because con 
 vention demanded them, a very charming widow, 
 laughed gayly without a single pretense of sorrow, 
 because she was not a hypocrite. 
 
 Summer came and went. Society flitted from the 
 city and flitted back. This summer the Trescottes 
 did not keep open house in the city. A cottage on 
 the coast of Maine had been purchased, and there 
 also Mrs. Trevor-Allen went to spend the months 
 supposed to be devoted to mourning. When all 
 involved in this tale returned to the city, the con 
 ditions were unchanged. Adams was upon the 
 Pacific Coast and Elsie was with her father. Not a 
 step toward the unraveling of the tangle had been 
 taken. 
 
 One evening in the late autumn Mrs. Trevor- 
 Allen and Mr. Magrane dined with the Trescottes. 
 They met frequently at that table, now that Mrs. 
 Trevor-Allen was withdrawn from society. The 
 two were sitting apart after dinner while Mr. and 
 Mrs, Trescotte were entertaining Mr. Courtenay,
 
 MKS. TREVOR- ALLEN S PLAN, 103 
 
 who had dropped in as he did once or twice a 
 week. 
 
 Suddenly Mrs. Trevor-Allen changed the topic of 
 conversation : 
 
 "Mr. and Mrs. Adams have not been reconciled 
 yet?" 
 
 "No," replied Mr. Magrane, rather startled by the 
 abrupt manner the subject had been introduced. 
 "It is singular you should speak of it to-day, for I 
 have just received a letter from Adams, announcing 
 his early return and his determination to arrive at 
 some settlement of his marital perplexities." 
 
 "Do you know what he proposes?" asked the 
 lady. 
 
 "No. He gives no indications." He laughed 
 amusedly. "I tried to bring about a reconciliation 
 the last time he was here. I laid a deep and, as I 
 thought, astute plan. But chance broke it up. I 
 got him to call on Trescotte, but as ill luck would 
 have it, he met Mrs. Adams here and the boy his 
 stumbling-block." 
 
 "I was here at the time." 
 
 "Oh, were you? Adams said there was a lady 
 other than Mrs. Trescotte present." 
 
 "The boy is handsome and attractive," said the 
 widow. 
 
 "Is he? And resembles his father, I hear," 
 laughed Mr. Magrane. 
 
 "Marvelously. His mother is very fond of him." 
 
 "Mothers usually are fond of their sons, are they 
 not?"
 
 a4 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 "I was much attracted to the mother Mrs. 
 Adams, you know." 
 
 "She is a very sweet woman so Adams says." 
 
 "Then why does he not become reconciled ?" asked 
 the widow. 
 
 "The boy, you know." 
 
 "Ah, the poor little fellow. He stands between 
 his mother and happiness." Mrs. Trevor-Allen was 
 sad and thoughtful. 
 
 Mr. Magrane looked down upon her admiringly, 
 wondering whether he liked her best in her gay or 
 her sympathetic mood. 
 
 "I have been in correspondence with Mrs. Adams," 
 continued Mrs. Trevor-Allen. "I have conceived a 
 great pity for her. I wish I could do something 
 toward reconciliation. She longs for it it has be- 
 come a passion with her." 
 
 Dorothy overheard this statement during a lull in 
 the conversation with her father and was surprised. 
 She had heard nothing of this correspondence. 
 
 "Did she write you so?" asked Mr. Magrane, 
 much interested. 
 
 "In express terms. Cannot we try again when 
 Mr. Adams returns?" 
 
 "If the boy could be disposed of, everything could 
 be accomplished." 
 
 Dorothy listened intently. 
 
 "It is a dreadful position to place a mother in,** 
 mused Mrs. Trevor-Allen. 
 
 "She must choose between husband and son." 
 
 "But things cannot go on as they are."
 
 MRS. TREVOR-ALLEN* S PLAN. 805 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because Mr. Adams will not be content to per 
 mit them," replied Mrs. Trevor-Allen. "Something 
 public will be done, and in it the true parentage of 
 the boy will be revealed." 
 
 Dorothy listened with parted lips, holding her 
 breath lest she lose a word, thankful that her father 
 was on his favorite topic of real estate. 
 
 "That will be bad," continued the widow, "not 
 alone for Mrs. Adams, but for the boy as well." 
 
 "Ah !" 
 
 The lawyer had not thought of that. 
 
 "And you mean " he asked. 
 
 "That they must be reconciled." 
 
 "But how?" 
 
 "In the interest of the boy himself, she must part 
 with him. You see it is something more than a 
 simple choice between son and husband." 
 
 "I see." 
 
 "I think," went on Mrs. Trevor-Allen, warming to 
 her subject, "that if the fact were properly put be 
 fore Mrs. Adams she would see it." 
 
 "A mother will not part with her child when she 
 ioves him," remarked the lawyer sententiously. 
 
 "A mother is capable of a sacrifice for her child 
 you men cannot comprehend." 
 
 "Ah!" The tone was one of incredulity. 
 
 "A mother s love is without selfishness the only 
 unselfish thing I know in this selfish world." 
 
 "Except one thing," said the lawyer, who had 
 heard her story from Dorothy.
 
 206 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 "And that is The lady looked up and 
 
 caught his look of admiration and was annoyed that 
 she had asked the question. 
 
 "I cannot tell you now some time perhaps I will. 
 But what could she do with the child ?" He lowered 
 his voice so much that Dorothy could not hear him. 
 "Give him to our friend Trescotte?" 
 
 "No," hurriedly responded the lady. "That 
 would never do at all ! I will take him, if she will 
 give him to me." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 "I will adopt him. I am alone. I would adore 
 the little one." 
 
 "But if you married again, what would the hus 
 band say?" 
 
 The charming widow laughed merrily, and saucily 
 tossing her blond curls with that coquetry no 
 woman can resist displaying when her own marriage 
 is spoken of, replied : 
 
 "I will never marry; once will suffice for me. 
 Besides, if I do, the man must marry the boy with 
 the other incumbrance." 
 
 Mr. Magrane s fine dark eyes deepened as he 
 laughed with her. She became sober suddenly, and 
 as she leaned toward him, bent beseeching eyes upon 
 him. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Magrane, let us be serious. Can t 
 this be done? See what will result. Mrs. Adams 
 will be restored to her husband, the lad s parentage 
 will be prevented as a reproach, a scandal which 
 might involve our friends will be avoided, and
 
 MRS. TREVOR-ALLEN S PLAN. 207 
 
 I, in my loneliness, will have something to care 
 for." 
 
 Dorothy heard it all, and was at once a prey U; 
 confusing and conflicting emotions. She looked to 
 see if her husband had heard. She was convinced 
 he had not. 
 
 "Well, I don t know," replied the lawyer thought 
 fully. "Are you in earnest?" 
 
 "Entirely so," answered the lady sincerely. "It 
 is not a sudden impulse. I have been thinking of it 
 a long time. I have been waiting to meet you and 
 ask you to undertake it." 
 
 "Let me think about it," said the lawyer, as he 
 rose* "I will see you to-morrow evening if you will 
 receive me, and talk it over again." 
 
 He took his leave, and as he descended the steps 
 he saw a carriage drawn up in front. As he turned 
 in the direction he was to go, he heard his name 
 spoken. A woman was looking through the open 
 window of the carriage. In the uncertain light he 
 could not distinguish her features. As he approached 
 he recognized Mrs. Waldemar and saw she was much 
 agitated. 
 
 "You have been dining with Dorothy and Henry?" 
 she asked anxiously. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Tell me who were of the party?" 
 
 "Only Mrs. Trevor-Allen and myself." 
 
 "Is she stopping with them?" 
 
 "No; she is awaiting the coming of her carriage." 
 
 "Then she is the only one with them?"
 
 208 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM* 
 
 "No; your father is there, but he was not at the 
 dinner." 
 
 Mrs. Waldemar plainly showed increased agita 
 tion. 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Magrane," she said, "please tell 
 the driver to go on." 
 
 He complied with her request, and the driver 
 asked where he should drive to. Hilda heard him 
 and cried out : 
 
 "Anywhere. Around the block, anywhere, only 
 hurry." 
 
 Astonished, Mr. Magrane watched the carriage 
 drive away. Then he walked off in the opposite 
 direction, and at the corner of the street waited for 
 a car which passed on the cross street. He waited 
 long enough to see a carriage, which he was satisfied 
 was the one occupied by Hilda, turn the corner and 
 take up a station on the opposite side of the street 
 at a point from which a view of the Trescotte door 
 could be commanded. 
 
 "Something s wrong," he said to himself as he 
 stepped into the car which bore him away.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 HILDA S ESCAPE. 
 
 HAD Mr. Magrane waited for the next car, he 
 would have seen, as soon as Mr. Courtenay left 
 the house, the carriage cross the street, Hilda alight 
 and run up the steps of the Trescotte house, and the 
 carriage drive away. 
 
 It so happened that as the door was opened to 
 admit Hilda, Dorothy passed into the hall. As 
 Hilda came forward Dorothy saw her. She was 
 shocked. There was wildness, fear, despair in 
 Hilda s face. 
 
 "Hilda!" 
 
 Alarm and amazement were in Dorothy s tones. 
 Her outcry brought Trescotte and Mrs. Trevor-Allen 
 from the salon. In the way Hilda put out her hands 
 to Dorothy there was a suggestion of the sense of 
 having reached a safe haven. 
 
 "Take me in and keep me !" she said. 
 
 "Have you left your home?" asked Dorothy, 
 greatly frightened. 
 
 "Yes/ 
 
 "And your husband?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Before Dorothy could ask more questions, Mrs.
 
 210 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 Trevor-Allen laid her hand upon Dorothy s arm and 
 said : 
 
 "Wait. Take her to your own room." 
 
 Dorothy led the unresisting Hilda up the stairs. 
 Mrs. Trevor-Allen and Trescotte exchanged glances 
 
 "What is the meaning of this?" asked Trescotte. 
 
 "The triumph of the blue ribbon," replied the 
 lady bitterly. 
 
 In the meantime Dorothy had taken Hilda into 
 her own room and removed her wraps and hat. 
 Seating her in a chair, Dorothy asked: 
 
 "Now, dear, what is the trouble?" 
 
 "I am safe here," said Hilda with a sigh. 
 
 Dorothy thought Hilda had asked a question. 
 
 "Yes, safe from all interruption." 
 
 "He is waiting for me now at the opera house.** 
 
 Dorothy noticed for the first time that Hilda was 
 in evening dress with her diamonds and rubies. 
 
 "Who?" she asked. 
 
 "I took the carriage to join him, but I was fright 
 ened and came here." 
 
 "But who, child, who?" 
 
 A mighty fear took possession of Dorothy; a 
 wave of possibilities and conjecture broke over 
 her. 
 
 "Lord Buttontrave. I was to go with him to 
 France. Our passage is engaged on the Champagne" 
 
 "Hilda!" 
 
 "I know it was very wicked. But I didn t go; I 
 came to you." 
 
 "Thank God !"
 
 HILDA S ESCAPE. 211 
 
 "You see, I am a coward. I am not brave like 
 you. I can t defy the world, like you, for love and 
 happiness." 
 
 The iron entered Dorothy s soul. A wild sense 
 of injustice filled her with indignation, frightened 
 for Hilda as she was, and as well overwhelmed by 
 shame for her. 
 
 "You are unjust in your trouble!" she cried. 
 "The cases are different. You would forsake your 
 marriage vows. I cling to them." 
 
 Hilda did not reply. She did not seem to hear 
 Dorothy s protest. She sat with her eyes on 
 vacancy, woe on her face. Dorothy regretting her 
 outburst, was silent, too, thinking what she could do 
 or say to comfort her sister, 
 
 Hilda rose to her feet. 
 
 "I can go to him yet. He will wait for me until 
 the opera is over." 
 
 Dorothy sprang forward and firmly pressed Hilda 
 back into her seat. "You will stay here," she said 
 masterfully; " I will protect you from yourself !" 
 
 "He loves me, for he has followed me here." 
 
 "And Waldemar?" 
 
 "He loves his horses and La Hoyle." 
 
 Dorothy had heard of La Hoyle. She was the 
 divinity of the pink tights and multi-colored lights. 
 
 The miserable story was coming out by de 
 grees. 
 
 There was a rap at the door. Dorothy opened 
 it. Mrs. Trevor-Allen was there, asking if she could 
 be of service.
 
 212 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM* 
 
 "Please don t go away yet ; I may need you," said 
 Dorothy. "And won t you ask Mr. Trescotte to 
 remain in for a while?" 
 
 Mrs. Trevor-Allen, satisfied something more than 
 the usual had occurred, went down to Mr. Trescotte. 
 
 Dorothy went back to Hilda.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ONE OCCURRENCE. 
 
 HILDA told her story, but neither with ease nor 
 connectedly. She was too much distressed, too 
 much broken and torn by too many conflicting 
 emotions. But with the aid of Dorothy s skillful 
 questions the miserable details came out. 
 
 Pride, ambition, her mother s urgency, her false 
 education, her warped nature developed under the 
 forcing processes of the hothouse of her peculiar 
 training, not love, had induced her to marry Walde- 
 mar. Then there was the awakening, the realiza 
 tion, the recovery from that intoxication which the 
 artificial stimulus of modern high life induces, dull 
 ing the senses while it brightens the wits of its 
 votaries. In the reaction which followed the pro 
 longed social temulency, the real nature of the 
 woman began to have sway. She began to see, 
 with a vision that was clear, not blurred, who Her 
 mann Waldemar was and what he was. Under the 
 veneer of a gentleman he was brutish ; under the 
 gloss the fine world had put upon him his grain was 
 coarse. A gambler and a sensualist, his tastes were 
 low and his pleasures dictated by them. In three 
 weeks Hilda had received the education before
 
 214 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 denied her. She had learned that marriage, though 
 sanctioned by the Church, was, unhallowed by love, 
 a bondage, a mockery, a disgrace. She had read of 
 love in novels, but, under the careful tuition of her 
 mother, she had believed it to be, like the book, fic 
 tion. To love was a figment of poetic fancy ; to 
 marry, that was practical and meant a rich husband, 
 a fine house, a life of luxurious elegance. She had 
 been, like the fillies of the racing stables, carefully 
 trained to run, and when brought on to the course 
 did run in the direction she was headed, for that 
 was what she had been taught to do. But after 
 three weeks, as by a flash, she had appreciated the 
 truth of the existence of love by the curious process 
 of realizing its absence from her own alliance. In 
 the moment of her awakening it was revealed to her 
 what it all meant this compulsory companionship 
 with a man with whom she had no community of 
 taste or interest, from which was absent that magical 
 glamour of love, which covers defects, makes 
 blemishes perfections, minimizes weaknesses, and 
 maximizes excellencies. Her stunted mind and sen 
 sibilities had in a moment sprung into normal 
 development by the irradiation of an idea. 
 
 She had arrived at this condition of mind, when 
 in Germany two things occurred which powerfully 
 influenced her. They were stopping on the sea- 
 coast and a yacht race was exciting her set. A 
 grandee had made up a party for his yacht, of which 
 Hilda was to be one, to witness the race. After 
 there was to be an excursion to last three days all
 
 ONE OCCURRENCE. 21$ 
 
 under irreproachable chaperonage. Waldemar was 
 to sail on one of the contesting yachts, since he 
 was an inveterate yachtsman at home. This 
 arrangement would separate Hilda and Walde 
 mar for three nights and four days, as the yacht 
 on which she was would not arrive until the after 
 noon of the fourth day. Under unusually propi 
 tious winds, however, the yacht ran into its anchor 
 age on the morning of the fourth day. Hilda, 
 uncomfortable and bored, leaving her maid to look 
 after her things, went ashore immediately upon 
 arrival and before breakfast. 
 
 Waldemar was large in a small way. Though 
 their stay at the seashore was to be brief, he had 
 rented a house. Entering this house, Hilda was 
 admitted by the hall porter, who stared at her 
 blankly, and whispered something to her in German, 
 which she did not understand. As she ascended the 
 stairs he shook his head in despair. To Hilda s 
 wonder the door by which she entered the room 
 used by her as her boudoir, from the hall, was locked 
 on the inside. She tried another door, one leading 
 into a small cross hall, from which entrance could be 
 had both to her own bedroom and to Waldemar s 
 apartments. This was unlocked. This bedroom 
 was, apparently, as she had left it four days before. 
 Condemning the negligence of the servants, she 
 passed to the next room. Disorder, to which she 
 was unaccustomed, reigned here. Empty cham 
 pagne bottles, cigar and cigarette ends were upon 
 the tables, and on a large tray on the floor the
 
 *l6 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT 
 
 remains of a feast. Astounded, Hilda halted on 
 the threshold. Then advancing, a large sofa, her 
 delight and comfort, came into the line of her 
 vision. 
 
 On it lay a woman, scantily clad, asleep. 
 
 Hilda was stupefied. Slowly she went to the sofa. 
 She stretched forth a hand to touch the recumbent 
 figure, to see if it were real. But she withheld her 
 hand and gazed, fascinated. Through her amaze 
 ment stole a sense of the wonderful fleshly beauty 
 of the woman asleep. Hilda continued to gaze 
 stupefied. 
 
 An arm worthy Canova s study was flung over the 
 head of the sofa, an arm perfectly modeled, and 
 through its white skin the blue veins could be traced. 
 On this arm rested a head covered with crisp auburn 
 curls auburn in which there was a glint of gold ; 
 a strong white neck, with alluring creases, rose from 
 broad, white, dimpled shoulders, covered with a skin 
 soft like satin and its sheen, with a hinting sugges 
 tion of pink; the chest and bust protected, not con- 
 cealed, by the single garment, rose and fell with the 
 deep and regular inhalations of the profound sleeper. 
 Hilda s eyes followed the bold curves of the relaxed 
 body, rising massively over the hips, and rested on 
 the limb escaped from its covering, gracefully caught 
 on the edge of the sofa a limb so perfect in its pro 
 portions as to appear to be the work of a sculptor 
 rather than that of nature. A more sumptuous reve 
 lation of beauty Hilda, quickly responsive to all 
 beauty, had never seen. As she gazed her stupefac-
 
 ONE OCCURRENCE. 21? 
 
 tion passed away. Her first thought was that a 
 servant maid, basely taking advantage of her absence, 
 had occupied her apartments. But the fine texture 
 and costly lace of the garment did not belong to a 
 servant maid. Hilda scanned the features of the 
 sleeping woman. Beautiful as they were, they were 
 devoid of soul and uninformed by intellect. Ah! 
 They were familiar. She looked again and drew 
 back in disgust. 
 
 The woman was La Hoyle, her husband s mistress, 
 the divinity of the multi-colored lights. The 
 woman who, for hire, exposed her charms before 
 the public ! 
 
 Rumor had connected Hilda s husband s name with 
 that of La Hoyle, but she had refused to believe it. 
 Now, however, she knew Rumor was truthful. This 
 animal, not half so refined as one of his horses, was 
 what pleased Waldemar. Disgust was followed by 
 anger. It was not the anger of outraged love ; she 
 had no love for him to be outraged ; but the anger 
 of a woman whose pride was hurt who thought of 
 the ridicule and contempt of her inferiors of the 
 delight and laughter of her equals ; anger that the 
 man she called husband should have invaded her 
 apartments with such a thing that her own private 
 domain should have been so contaminated. 
 
 With head very erect she left the room, descend 
 ing the stairs to the entrance hall, where she sum 
 moned the servants. All of them had been out of 
 the way on her arrival, for it was yet early morning. 
 None of them save the hall porter, and perhaps Wai-
 
 2l8 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 demar s man, was aware of the presence of La 
 Hoyle. She ordered one servant to procure her 
 breakfast, another to announce her arrival to Mr. 
 Waldemar, and yet another to prepare a suite of 
 rooms for her occupancy in another part of the 
 house, forbidding all to enter the rooms she had 
 just left. 
 
 Waldemar, who was in his bath, received the 
 announcement of his wife s arrival with alarm. It 
 was awkward. He awoke La Hoyle hurriedly and 
 hid her in his own apartments, and hastened in bath 
 robe and slippers to detain his wife until the room 
 could be restored to a semblance of order. He would 
 have embraced Hilda in his nervousness, but she put 
 him aside impatiently. She was calm but con 
 temptuous. She made no reference to what she had 
 seen. He asked when she had arrived ; she told 
 him, and of the incidents of her trip. She was 
 almost gay in her recital. But it was the gayety 
 of hysteria. 
 
 Waldemar, convinced that his wife had discovered 
 nothing, yet wondering at her manner, returned 
 when he thought it safe. As he ascended the stairs 
 he planned to get La Hoyle out of the house unob 
 served, and he cursed his own weakness that had 
 made him yield to the wild and imperious caprice 
 of La Hoyle to be entertained in his house in his 
 wife s absence and to her arrogant insistence to 
 occupy his wife s quarters. Waldemar was ruled by 
 La Hoyle. Subdued by her charms, he was enslaved 
 by fear of her temper.
 
 ON~E OCCURRENCE. 29 
 
 Hilda, behind the closed doors of her new apart 
 ments, sought relief in isolation in which she might 
 bitterly deride the fortune that had chained her to 
 such a man, and pray despairingly for opportunity 
 of escape.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE OTHER. 
 
 SHORTLY after the return of the Waldemars to 
 Berlin there was a ball at one of the foreign embas 
 sies. Hilda attended. She was yet in that condi 
 tion of mind that made her believe that the discovery 
 she had made was known of the world and that she 
 was looked upon with contempt. At this ball Hilda 
 met Lord Buttontrave, attached to the English 
 embassy, distinguished, fascinating, accomplished, 
 and, as the world said, destined to a high career in 
 diplomacy. His admiration for Hilda was manifest 
 at their first meeting. Hilda was no less attracted 
 by him. Thereafter they met frequently. The 
 young nobleman s admiration developed into a pas 
 sion. And Hilda awoke to the fact that love did 
 exist, and that she was capable of entertaining it 
 deeply and passionately. With its growth for Lord 
 Buttrontrave there was increase of contempt for 
 Waldemar. That her husband should have brought 
 La Hoyle with him on his wedding journey seemed 
 to Hilda to justify her in tae feeling she entertained 
 for Buttontrave. And yet everything was in thought. 
 Lord Buttontrave had whispered in her ear nothing
 
 THE OTHER. 2I 
 
 more serious than a compliment. The contrast of 
 the two men did more wooing for Buttontrave than 
 he did for himself. One was a man, the other 
 an apology. She was not compromised by the 
 attentions of the nobleman. Pride had guarded her 
 against that. There was to be sure a little gossip, 
 but La Belle Americaine, as she was called, was 
 cold, it was said, and no harm came of it. Once 
 after returning from a ball, at which Buttontrave 
 had danced so frequently with her as to cause an 
 unusual comment, Waldemar spoke of it in remon 
 strance. 
 
 "Do not fear I will not respect myself," she had 
 replied coldly. "Before you give me advice, show 
 me that you give as much respect to me and your 
 self as I do to myself." 
 
 As he had spent the whole day with La Hoyle, 
 he did not care to continue the conversation, and he 
 left her with the uncomfortable fear that she had 
 come to have knowledge of the mistress. 
 
 Though Hilda and Buttontrave continued to 
 meet, the same reticence which had characterized 
 their intercourse from the first was maintained. Yet 
 neither was without knowledge of the state of the 
 heart of the other. The vocabulary of love is mute, 
 but none the less intelligible. Neither knew how it 
 would end, nor perhaps in this, the springtime of 
 their love, cared. But when the time came to return 
 to America both were distressed and unhappy. 
 The night before her departure, on parting from her, 
 he had whispered, "I will follow," but she was not
 
 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 comforted. On the steamer s deck, a few moments 
 before sailing, a respectable-looking man, who had 
 been hovering about her, taking advantage of the 
 temporary absence of Waldemar, dropped into her 
 hand a small packet not larger than an English wal 
 nut, touched his hat respectfully, and disappeared 
 over the side of the steamer. Instinctively conceal 
 ing the packet, she had examined it in private. It 
 was a ring, so fashioned that the colors of the jewels 
 made a "forget-me-not." There was neither word 
 nor symbol to indicate from whence it had come, 
 but Hilda knew it was a message from Buttontrave. 
 From that moment she wore it, not on her finger, 
 but next her heart. But she never expected to see 
 Buttontrave again. She was saddened and despair 
 ing. That was the meaning of her listlessness and 
 indifference to all things upon her return home. 
 
 Once back in New York all semblance of attention 
 upon the part of Waldemar passed away. Hilda s 
 disgust and contempt for her husband increased, and 
 she was left to brood over what might have been 
 had she not been hurried by her mother into that 
 hateful marriage. 
 
 Not many weeks had passed before Lord Button 
 trave, having thrown over his post, appeared in New 
 York. Rumor said he had come to secure an Ameri- 
 can heiress, and the matron mothers were all agog. 
 Cards and invitations poured in upon him, all of 
 which were accepted, for it was through these enter- 
 tainments he could meet Hilda. This time he put 
 no restraint upon himself. He whispered words of
 
 THE OTHER. 223 
 
 love into her ears, and she listened with the eager- 
 ness of a starved soul. So, when finally proposing 
 to throw to the winds, for her sake and love, the 
 ambitions of a career he had cherished, he had 
 offered flight as their destiny, she had accepted. 
 But at the very moment of its consummation she 
 had recoiled, and in a panic escaped to Dorothy. 
 
 "Does your husband know of your flight?" asked 
 Dorothy, when there was no more to be told. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "But he has learned of it by this time?" 
 
 Hilda laughed bitterly. 
 
 "He rarely comes in until the night is nearly over, 
 and then he goes straight to his own room. He 
 will know to-morrow afternoon." 
 
 "He will know on finding you gone?" 
 
 "I left a note to be handed him by Ellen." 
 
 Ellen was an old Courtenay servant, transferred 
 to Hilda. 
 
 Dorothy thought a brief moment, and then said : 
 
 "Stay where you are. Do not leave this room 
 until I return." 
 
 Hastening to Trescotte and Mrs. Trevor-Allen, 
 Dorothy told them so much as was necessary to 
 make them understand the situation. 
 
 "Lord Buttontrave must leave the country," said 
 Trescotte promptly. "I will attend to that. Then 
 that letter to Waldemar that must be recovered. 
 When these things are done it will be time enough 
 to consider the next step." 
 
 "My carriage is at the door, Dorothy," said Mrs.
 
 824 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 Trevor-Allen. "I will drive you to Hilda s house. 
 Come." 
 
 Trescotte, approving this, hurriedly departed. 
 Calling Downs, Dorothy said to him : 
 
 "Mrs. Waldemar is in my room. She is not well 
 in fact, very ill. Watch her faithfully during my 
 absence, and if she tries to leave the house, detain 
 her, even if you have to use force." 
 
 The two women hurried away. Both were silent, 
 busy with their own thoughts. Each would have 
 been astonished could she have read the other s 
 mind. Dorothy was thinking how Lou Graham 
 (her friend) and her sister Hilda had been sacrificed 
 upon the altar of wealth and society, and how differ 
 ently each had borne the test, and her affection, as 
 did her admiration, increased for the brave little 
 woman beside her, who had so uncomplainingly 
 borne her crown of sorrow. And Mrs. Trevor- Allen 
 was thinking how true the woman sitting beside her 
 had been to her love and her ideals, and how nobly 
 she had borne the world s misunderstanding of her, 
 and her affection for Dorothy, as did her admiration, 
 increased. 
 
 As they were nearing the house, Dorothy sud 
 denly threw her arms about Mrs. Trevor-Allen and 
 whispered : 
 
 "Lou, dear, when Mr. Magrane comes to you to 
 morrow night, ask him to take no steps for the 
 present about Mrs. Adams boy." 
 
 "You heard our talk to-night?" 
 
 "Yes,"
 
 THE OTHER. 225 
 
 "Why do you ask that?" 
 
 "I want to think it all out." 
 
 They had reached Waldemar s house, and the car- 
 riage had stopped as Mrs. Trevor-Allen gave her 
 consent. 
 
 It did not require many minutes to persuade 
 Ellen to give up the letter sought. Dorothy was 
 her favorite, and it was enough for Dorothy to tell 
 her that Hilda was ill at her home, and wished the 
 letter. The two women returned, pleased that by 
 the recovery of the letter a scandal had been 
 averted. 
 
 Dorothy found her sister sitting as she had left 
 her, dry-eyed and staring into vacancy. She handed 
 the letter to Hilda, telling her to destroy it. Hilda 
 took it, stared at it dumbly, then realizing what it 
 was, gave herself up to a paroxysm of anger. 
 
 "Why do you interfere in my affairs?" she cried 
 "I will go to him! He waits for me now! The 
 man I- 
 
 She broke down and, throwing herself upon Dor 
 othy s neck, burst into tears. 
 
 "The best thing that could have happened to her," 
 commented the practical Mrs. Trevor-Allen. It 
 will save her from brain fever or something. Now 
 put her to bed and I ll go home." 
 
 In the meantime, Trescotte had hurried to the 
 opera house. The hour was late and the distance 
 far. He feared the opera would be over before he 
 could get downtown. Calling a hack at the corner, 
 he promised double fare to be driven rapidly. As
 
 226 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 he turned from Seventh Avenue into Fortieth 
 Street he had the satisfaction of seeing the blazing 
 lights of the house and the long line of carriages. 
 Signaling the driver to stop, he dismissed him, 
 and sauntering up the street on the side opposite to 
 the opera house, peered into every carriage. He 
 had not met Lord Buttontrave, but he was certain 
 he would know him. Find him he must, if he fol 
 lowed him all night. The Champagne sailed at six 
 the next morning and Buttontrave must sail with it. 
 He reached Broadway without finding his man. On 
 the corner he stopped to think. If, he thought, it 
 was arranged that in joining him it was to appear 
 as if Hilda was leaving the opera, then Buttontrave 
 would be near the main entrance where he could 
 watch for her coming. Acting upon this thought 
 he crossed the street and walked rapidly down to 
 that entrance. Near the covered way he saw a 
 coach about which there was an air of mystery. 
 The curtains were drawn over the side windows. 
 He approached it. The man he was looking for 
 was within it. 
 
 My lord, "he said as he opened the door without 
 ado, "permit me to present myself. I am Mr. Tres- 
 cotte." 
 
 The nobleman was congealed haughtiness. 
 
 "Your intrusion is unpardonably impertinent," he 
 replied. 
 
 "I think not," returned Trescotte steadily, with a 
 tone of severity that made the other stare hard into 
 the eyes of him who had so unceremoniously thrust
 
 THE OTHER. 7 
 
 himself into the coach. "My name perhaps conveys 
 nothing to you. My wife Mrs. Trescotte is a 
 sister of Mrs. Waldemar." 
 
 The face of the Englishman was inscrutable. 
 Upon the word Waldemar he was on guard at every 
 point. He bowed haughtily. 
 
 "Mrs. Waldemar is at my house," continued 
 Trescotte, "quite ill, under Mrs. Trescotte s care. 
 She will be unable to leave the house to-night, and 
 will not see anyone." 
 
 The nobleman regretted to hear it. 
 
 "Permit me to suggest," Trescotte went on in his 
 cold, severe, and yet perfectly courteous tone, "that 
 you would do well to take possession of your state 
 room on the Champagne to-night. It sails at six, 
 and it is unpleasant to rise so early." 
 
 The nobleman was of the opinion that Mr. Tres 
 cotte was too solicitous as to his comfort. 
 
 "It is much the easier way," replied Trescotte. 
 "It will save much annoyance. As yet Mr. Walde 
 mar knows nothing that should disturb him. 
 Believe me, my lord, we don t fight duels here. But 
 public sentiment justifies the outraged husband in 
 taking a summary justice into his own hands." 
 
 "Please tell cabby to drive to the Brevoort 
 House," said the nobleman. "Good-night." 
 
 Trescotte did as he was requested, closed the 
 door of the coach, bade Lord Buttontrave good 
 night and went home.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 HILDA RETURNS HOME. 
 
 HILDA was saved. For what? A joyless exist 
 ence with a man whom she loathed and despised 
 from the bottom of her bitter soul. 
 
 The next step was the subject of an earnest dis 
 cussion between Trescotte and Dorothy the next 
 morning. Trescotte was urgent in his opinion that 
 Hilda should return to her own home as soon as 
 possible, and thus avoid the possibility of a scanda 
 lous talk. Whatever arrangements Hilda wanted 
 to make for her future life, in his judgment, could 
 better be initiated from her home than elsewhere. 
 And Dorothy agreed with him. 
 
 After a night s sleep Hilda was in a better frame 
 of mind to look upon her situation. As I have had 
 occasion to remark, I do not pretend to understand 
 the inconsistencies and contradictions of the female 
 heart. And so without attempted explanation, I 
 merely state that Hilda awoke at once glad and 
 regretful. She was glad to find herself under the 
 protecting Trescotte wing, safe from the fascina 
 tions of adorable English noblemen, and regretful 
 that the particular adorable English nobleman, fas 
 cinating to her, was disappointed in his enterprise 
 
 3*8
 
 HILDA RETURNS HOME. 229 
 
 and had fled America without even an effort to see 
 her again. Indeed, now that the danger and the 
 possibility of yielding was passed, she longed pas 
 sionately for the opportunity of yielding. Since 
 Lord Buttontrave was secure on the deck of an 
 ocean steamer, she vowed to herself if he were to 
 open the door of her room and say "Come !" she 
 would rise up and follow him with gratitude. In 
 deed, as all the joy and happiness which, in her 
 dreams during the days preceding the day of action, 
 she had promised herself with Lord Buttontrave 
 receded from her view and became impossible, she 
 yearned for them, at the very moment she felt 
 strong in the security of the knowledge that he was 
 on that steamer deck. And she visited Trescotte, 
 who had sent the fascinating young nobleman away, 
 with no displeasure. 
 
 To the contemplation of Waldemar she turned 
 with positive hatred. She was angry with Dorothy 
 because she had not let the letter go to its destina 
 tion to forever and for all time sever the bonds of 
 the hateful tie. It was difficult for Trescotte to 
 make her see that, if she contemplated divorce, such 
 a course would have placed a weapon in the hand of 
 Waldemar, while under the recovery and destruc 
 tion of the letter he was practically defenseless. 
 
 But to urge her, or to encourage Hilda in the 
 obtainment of a divorce was not the purpose of 
 Trescotte; nor was it of Dorothy. Indeed both of 
 them shrank from the idea with a sincerity quite 
 amusing to a cyncial old fogy like myself. Here
 
 3 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM! 
 
 were these two people, still smarting under stings, 
 and whose backs were yet raw with the lashes 
 which had been laid on by society, employing 
 with Hilda the very same arguments that had 
 been used against them. Mrs. Courtenay could 
 not have placed the awful frowns of society and 
 the terrible consequences of the avertance of its 
 countenance before her sister, any more forcibly than 
 did dear little Dorothy. Her arguments were to 
 me the strongest assurance that Dorothy was secure 
 in the faith that the life she was living was just and 
 moral. 
 
 Hilda, whose ability to follow the argument was 
 somewhat obstructed by considerations of Dorothy s 
 own doubtful relations, and yet unable to combat 
 them, reluctantly yielded. When she left her home 
 the previous night it was with the belief that the 
 hateful bonds were severed for all time. Though 
 she had failed in courage to carry out her purpose, 
 the thought of returning was distressing. As a con 
 cession to society and the sacred Courtenay family 
 only would she go back, and if she did, it must be 
 with the distinct understanding that if not an 
 apparent, a virtual separation from Waldemar should 
 result, with a separate allowance, and no intercourse 
 with her husband except in public and for the sake 
 of propriety. Only on these conditions would she 
 return. Trescotte engaged to undertake this enter 
 prise, and so Hilda went back to her home, and Wal 
 demar arose at noon unaware that his wife had not 
 spent the night under his roof.
 
 HILDA RETURNS HOME. *J 
 
 Trsecotte s mission was not agreeable. A little 
 thought showed him that his chances for success 
 would be better were he to deal with the elder Wal- 
 demar. The younger man was pugnacious and 
 would be inclined to ask upon what authority he, 
 Trescotte, interfered in his marital affairs, and to 
 suggest the advisability of straightening out his own 
 troubles before engaging in an effort to correct those 
 of other people, but he had given his word to Hilda, 
 and there was no one else to act for her. So he 
 sought the elder Waldemar in his bank parlor. 
 
 There was an ominous frown and a dark look in 
 his eyes as Trescotte revealed the turpitude of Wal 
 demar the younger. No one could be more insolent 
 or more audaciously and courteously haughty than 
 the elder Waldemar. 
 
 "Do you not think," said the old banker, with 
 that accent which made his words so impressive, 
 "that this is a very singular mission for you to be 
 employed upon? One, my dear Mr. Trescotte, 
 ought not to hurl stones if in a glass house he lives." 
 
 "Mr. Waldemar," replied Mr. Trescotte, with an 
 air quite as haughty and a tone quite as arrogant, "a 
 man should not even refer to a matter of which he 
 is wholly ignorant. I shall not affect not to under- 
 stand that you are referring to that gossip which 
 slanderous tongues distinguished me with. You are 
 wholly ignorant as to my relations, and being so, any 
 reference you may make to them is cowardly." 
 
 "Sir!" 
 
 "I mean precisely what I say. If this is to end
 
 *3 2 SHOULD SHE HA t r E LEFT HIM? 
 
 our interview, then I will carry the commission I 
 have received to a lawyer. I had hoped for the sake 
 of two families the Waldemarsand the Courtenays 
 that my mission would be received with courtesy, 
 and thus trouble and scandal would be avoided. 
 You shall choose." 
 
 This was summary proceeding, and Trescotte 
 rose, hat in hand, and assumed an attitude of wait 
 ing. 
 
 The elder Waldemar was as politic as he was arro 
 gant. He smiled as he said : 
 
 "You are a diplomat, sir. Resume your seat and 
 let me know what the young Mrs. Waldemar 
 demands. But first let me ask if there is not a pos 
 sibility that her charges against her husband may be 
 disputed." 
 
 "An hour devoted to inquiry, Mr. Waldemar, 
 would assure you of the relations existing between 
 your son and the woman known as La Hoyle. With 
 the facts in my possession and the proof which I 
 will submit, you can assure yourself that the rela 
 tion has existed so long that it antedates your son s 
 marriage by a year; that when Hermann went to 
 Germany on his wedding journey La Hoyle followed 
 him, and during the whole of that trip he did not 
 lose sight of her." 
 
 The old banker was shocked. 
 
 "Enough!" he cried ; "if this be true there is no 
 defense for him. That was bad; the wedding jour 
 ney, that was bad." 
 
 The inference seemed to be that in the mind of
 
 HILDA RETURNS HOME. 233 
 
 the old gentleman, if it were not for the episode of 
 the wedding journey, the rest might be forgiven. 
 
 "If Hermann gives up the girl," he said, "gives 
 assurances of reform, Hilda will pardon him?" 
 
 "I think not?" 
 
 "And indeed, why?" 
 
 "Her pride has been outraged. With your expe 
 rience in life, sir, you will understand the potency 
 of that. Do not misunderstand her position. Her 
 desire is a release by divorce. Mrs. Trescotte and 
 myself have persuaded her from that, but no power 
 will alter her present determination. If it is not 
 granted she will leave his roof." 
 
 "Why, then," asked Mr. Waldemar, "has Mrs. 
 Waldemar the younger waited more than a year 
 after her discovery to make her charges?" 
 
 It was not the purpose of Trescotte to tell the 
 old gentleman the incidents which had led up to 
 Hilda s determination. His memory and ready wit 
 served him. 
 
 "La Hoyle had a seat on Hermann s drag at the 
 races yesterday, and Hermann held the whip himself. 
 She was flaunted, permit me to say, in the faces of 
 Mrs. Waldemar s friends and associates the culmi 
 nation of a long series of insults and humiliations." 
 
 The old banker thought for a while and then said : 
 
 "It is a pity that Mrs. Waldemar the younger 
 could not be persuaded that the better way would 
 be to accept Hermann s assurances of reform. But 
 you say that is impossible. Well, it shall have to 
 be, then, as she will dictate. I will examine, and in
 
 *34 SHOULD SHE HA VE LEFT HIM? 
 
 a day or two will communicate with you as her 
 representative. I presume it is the best way out of 
 a very distressing business." 
 
 Thus the interview ended, and Trescotte, as he 
 went away, was certain that the old banker thought 
 that the end of the arrangement proposed would be 
 the reconciliation of the two young people, and in 
 that belief was inclined to yield.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 DOROTHY S SACRAMENTS. 
 
 WHILE Trescotte was submitting the Waldemar 
 entanglement to the old banker, Dorothy was sitting 
 beside the cradle of her firstborn. Two subjects 
 possessed her mind. Crooning a lullaby, soft and 
 low, as she gently swung the cradle of her new joy 
 and hope, she was lost in deep meditation. 
 
 Hilda s hopeless position, her unhappiness, her 
 narrow escape from shame and disgrace was one of 
 her subjects. Could Mrs. Deekman and Mrs. Bees- 
 tonmy have read the thoughts of Dorothy at this 
 time, I greatly fear they would have been confirmed 
 in the justice of the crusade they had organized 
 against this young mother. Her thoughts were bit 
 ter against society, the society she knew its ideals, 
 its motives, its morals, and its educational influences. 
 So dead had she become to the code upheld by 
 such superexcellent women as the two who had led 
 in the ostracism of herself, that she actually pro 
 nounced that society as false, wicked, even without 
 common sense, which is much worse, as we all 
 know, than being false or wicked. When she sur 
 veyed the field and saw that Waldemar was no bet 
 ter nor no worse than others of his rank, in the life
 
 236 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM/ 
 
 he led, restrained a little less, perhaps, by a sense of 
 propriety and good taste, she felt that in looking 
 down into the depths of Hilda s misery she saw 
 glimpses of the life of half the households of her 
 acquaintances. When she thought of Hilda, alone 
 in that great house, in the flush of health, young 
 and beautiful, yet with not a single ray of hope to 
 lift her up, she thought she was looking into the 
 hearts of half the women with whom, in her girl 
 hood, she had romped and played. With that 
 peculiar perversity I have noted more than once in 
 the course this veracious history, she actually said 
 to herself: "In a world where common sense and 
 good morals reign, Hilda s position with Lord But- 
 tontrave would be considered no worse than her 
 position with Waldemar, in which union only 
 wealth and high position were considered." 
 
 Of course she was very bitter, and it must be 
 admitted she was very sorry for her sister. She had 
 acquiesced in the proposed virtual separation of 
 Hilda from Waldemar, not as a settlement of her 
 troubles, but as a mitigation of the horrors of 
 Hilda s life. And this woman, bred in the most 
 exclusive circles of that society, in the most conser 
 vative manner, educated to believe that position 
 within it was the highest aim of life, was led by her 
 thoughts to pronounce, as the summation of her 
 observations and experience, this dictum : "Its 
 teachings lead women to forget their self-respect 
 and virtue; Hilda should have a divorce." The 
 justice of my fear, that Mesdames Deekman and
 
 DOROTHY S SACRAMENTS. 237 
 
 Beestonmy would have been shocked and saddened, 
 is, I think, made very clear. 
 
 That she should contrast Hilda s position and her 
 own was natural. The little cloud that had rested 
 upon her own happiness put forward its claims for 
 consideration that cloud which Mrs. Trevor-Allen 
 had said was of her own making the jealousy she 
 had permitted to take sway and erect that intangible 
 something between herself and her husband. Under 
 the guidance of this thought she traveled gently and 
 by degrees to the second subject of her meditations. 
 
 She admitted that in entertaining the unworthy 
 thought she had justified Mrs. Trevor-Allen s up. 
 braiding. Even when she tried to excuse herself in 
 the love she bore Trescotte and her desire to be 
 everything to him, she was compelled to confess 
 that littleness and selfishness had been at the bottom 
 of her weakness. Bending over the babe sleep 
 ing so peacefully and trying to trace on that 
 infantile face the lineaments of its father, and con 
 trasting the love, tenderness, and nobility of that 
 father with the vice, brutality, and ignominy of 
 Hilda s husband, she vowed to dismiss all vestige of 
 such weakness and be worthy herself and the man, 
 the love of whom had rescued her from her sister s 
 fate. In this vow was the third sacrament of her 
 life a sacrament as holy as any at churchly altar, 
 or under priestly hands a sacrament, the influences 
 of which were dignifying and evolutionary. 
 
 Perhaps it was the association of ideas that 
 brought to her mind Mrs. Adams and her passionate
 
 ajS SHOULD SHE HA VR LEFT HIM? 
 
 desire to be restored to her husband. Perhaps in 
 the desire, which found place in these self-commun- 
 ings, there was emulation of Mrs. Trevor-Allen. I 
 do not believe it, rather I think it was the direct 
 outcome of the resolves she had made over the pure 
 face of the babe she was crooning to. Her heart 
 was full of pity for the unfortunate boy whose mere 
 existence was the cause of so much trouble, and 
 who stood in the way of a reconciliation of Mr. and 
 Mrs. Adams. 
 
 So deep and absorbing were her meditations on 
 this point that she forgot to croon and to rock. 
 With a hand resting on the cradle and a far-away 
 look in her eyes, she sat motionless a long time. 
 By and by there came upon her face an expression 
 that was saintlike and holy. The babe, missing the 
 croon and the motion, turned uneasily, and the 
 young mother, lifting it from its cradle, and cuddling 
 it in her arms, covered its face with her own and 
 breathed into its ears another vow. And that 
 was the fourth sacrament of her life a sacrament 
 which in its influence upon her was ennobling and 
 revolutionary. 
 
 There was a step in the hall and a light rap at the 
 door. Her husband, returning from his mission, was 
 seeking her. With her babe in her arms she 
 admitted him herself, and, at the threshold, met him 
 with a kiss so tender and so clinging that he won 
 dered at it. Tears were in her eyes ; he lifted her 
 face to him. She smiled. April sunshine through 
 a shower.
 
 DOROTHYS SACRAMENTS. 239 
 
 "Why," he asked, "what is all this?" 
 
 "You are so good to me. And I have made a 
 vow. I mean to be worthy of you." 
 
 "Worthy of me?" he repeated, in a tone which 
 said she was already worthy a dozen such as he. 
 
 "Yes. I will tell you when you have told me 
 what Mr. Waldemar says something I have to 
 propose."
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 DOROTHY S PROPOSAL. 
 
 THE following evening, at early candle light, as 
 they used to call it, before the fashion of hurrying 
 through this jostling world had brought about a 
 minute and prompt observance of hours and division 
 of hours, Tracey Harte was entertaining the widow 
 Trevor-Allen with all the current gossip of the 
 day. He was her only purveyor now that she was 
 withdrawn from society for a period of decorous 
 mourning. 
 
 When he had unloaded his quantum (and she 
 had been unusually unattentive and had actually 
 yawned twice during his most exciting morsel) she 
 disturbed his self-satisfied serenity with this remark: 
 
 "Tracey, you must stop calling on me." 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Trevor-Allen !" 
 
 "Yes, dear boy, you must. When I was a wife it 
 was all very well, but now that I am a widow, and 
 must regard propriety, people will talk. One can 
 stand a little scandal when one is a wife, but talk, 
 especially if one is without a husband, oh, my !" 
 
 And the vivacious little woman turned up her 
 dainty hands and her lovely eyes in horrified protest. 
 
 "Oh, I say, that is rough ! " stammered the luckless
 
 DOROTHY S PROPOSAL, 241 
 
 youth. "You know I won t know what to do if I 
 haven t got you to bully me." 
 
 "It s sad, I know," rejoined the lively widow. 
 "Some sacrifice to the god Propriety is demanded. 
 And, in view of all I have done for you in the way 
 of completing your education, it is the littlest thing 
 you can do for me make a sacrifice." 
 
 "You can bully me as much as you want," said 
 Tracey dolorously. "I rather like it, but don t laugh 
 at me." 
 
 Before Mrs. Trevor-Allen could reply a servant 
 handed her the card of Mr. Magrane. 
 
 "Perhaps that s the reason why I am dismissed," 
 said Tracey, much crestfallen, and not without a 
 pang of jealousy, as the servant disappeared. 
 
 "Now, Tracey, don t be silly," laughed the lady 
 "You are not in love with me; you couldn t be, it 
 you tried. And you haven t even tried to try. You 
 simply like me. You re a very nice youth. Bu^ 
 never be jealous of a woman s lawyer." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because she has to show up her unpleasant and 
 mercenary side to him, and she s such a fool about 
 business that she knows she is disgusting her lawyer 
 all the time. No woman falls in love with a man v 
 unless she first is pleased with herself for having 
 pleased the man. There is a small bit of truth for 
 you, by which you ought to profit, if you mean to 
 push your career as a heartbreaker. Go now, dear 
 boy, this is a business engagement." 
 
 Tracey, believing himself badly treated, gave
 
 242 SHOULD SHE HA VE LEFT HIM? 
 
 place to Mr. Magrane and went to his club an hour 
 earlier than usual, where, to relieve his feelings, he 
 swore at the waiters. 
 
 "I have been thinking over that proposal of yours 
 to adopt the boy of Mrs. Adams," said the lawyer, 
 introducing the subject which was the excuse of his 
 visit "thinking it over very carefully." 
 
 "Oh, that," replied Mrs. Trevor-Allen indiffer 
 ently. "Mrs. Trescotte wants me to take no steps 
 for the present." 
 
 "You have talked to her about it?" asked Mr. 
 Magrane in astonishment. 
 
 "She overheard our conversation last night and 
 afterward asked me to do nothing about it for a 
 while." 
 
 "Did she tell you why she wanted delay?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "It is singular, since a reconciliation between Mr. 
 and Mrs. Adams would help her own situation so 
 much." 
 
 "I do not understand that she opposes it," said 
 the lady, "only that she wants it deferred for the 
 present." 
 
 "Well, we may talk about it all events," said the 
 lawyer. "I m quite enamored of the idea." 
 
 "Then you see no objections?" 
 
 "None, except those the mother may make, and 
 those you say may be overcome." 
 
 "By convincing her that the sacrifice she is asked 
 to make is for the good of the boy." 
 
 The lawyer did not reply, but was busy with his
 
 DOROTHYS PROPOSAL. 243 
 
 thoughts for a while. Then he remarked, as if his 
 words were a reflection upon what he had been 
 thinking, rather than an answer to her last speech : 
 
 "Your sex is incomprehensible." 
 
 "To your sex?" laughed the lady. "Only be 
 cause you look too deeply for our motives." 
 
 "Perhaps. Our sex acts from reason; yours from 
 impulse." 
 
 "No, not impulse, intuition conclusions without 
 the slow processes of thought, and with as much 
 purpose and result as from your reason." 
 
 "More." He thought a moment longer and said 
 kindly : "You are a very good woman, Mrs. Trevor- 
 Allen. To serve people who have won your sym 
 pathy you would burden yourself with the care of 
 this child." 
 
 The lady laughed merrily. 
 
 "How little you know, after all, of our sex. I m 
 pure selfishness. This act was prompted by selfish 
 ness. Bored with the emptiness of my life, I want 
 something to fill it up." 
 
 "You are deriding yourself," said the lawyer, not 
 pleased. 
 
 "I am not," said the lady, pleased to see him dis 
 pleased. "Into the life of every woman, not utterly 
 abandoned to some fault or vice, there comes at 
 some period a desire to have something to love, 
 care for, to worry about, to suffer for. It has come 
 to me." 
 
 The lawyer turned upon her a grave look, search 
 ing yet kindly ; into his eyes crept a light of mingled
 
 244 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIMf 
 
 humor and admiration. Withal there was such a 
 quizzical look that the lady was abashed. 
 Then he quoted : 
 
 " Those graceful acts. 
 Those thousand decencies, that daily flow 
 From all her words and actions." 
 
 For once that ready tongue was without reply. 
 She blushed, becoming angry because she did, and 
 blushed again. She was relieved by the entrance of 
 a servant who brought the cards of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Trescotte. Hailing their coming as a deliverance, 
 she instructed that they be brought to the apart 
 ment in which they were sitting. 
 
 "We knew we should find you here, Mr. Magrane," 
 said Dorothy, after the exchange of salutations, 
 "and it was because of it that we came. Oh, I know 
 that s not nice, Lou, to you that is, that it doesn t 
 seem so, but we have something to propose, and we 
 wanted you two to hear it together and advise us." 
 
 "You hurt and flatter my pride in a breath," 
 laughed the widow, pleased to have the Trescottes 
 there to stop that lawyer s disconcerting looks. 
 "What is the important proposition?" 
 
 "Harry will tell you," replied Dorothy, on whose 
 cheeks were signs of the excitement she was labor 
 ing under. "It is very important and serious." 
 
 "It is something Mrs. Trescotte proposes." Tres 
 cotte as a matter of principle always spoke of his 
 wife as Mrs. Trescotte before others, no matter how 
 close to her they were. "She overheard your con-
 
 DOROTHY S PROPOSAL. 45 
 
 versation last night and the proposal to take the 
 child for adoption by you, Mrs. Trevor-Allen, and it 
 seems it set her to thinking." 
 
 "That and some other things not necessary to 
 mention here," broke in Dorothy. 
 
 "She heard your arguments too, especially that 
 which set forth the position of the lad if he is 
 allowed to grow up under the present relations and 
 conditions. She has been thinking to-day, it seems, 
 and much to my amazement, and I may say not a 
 little to my perplexity, this afternoon proposed that 
 we, she and I, should adopt the boy." 
 
 "Very disinterested in Mrs. Trescotte, I m sure, r 
 said Mr. Magrane, a little surprised, and, sniffing a 
 conflict with Mrs. Trevor-Allen, prepared to side 
 with her. 
 
 "Not at all!" cried out the widow, owing him one 
 for having disconcerted her. "It is only her duty, 
 and what I knew she would do when she came to 
 her own sweet self." 
 
 "But you wanted the child?" said the lawyer, dis 
 composed by the prompt rejection of his proffer of 
 an alliance. 
 
 "I don t. But if I did, Dorothy is the proper per 
 son to take it," she said, and then a little mali 
 ciously, "we ll give you some time to reason upor 
 the truth of this remark; I have arrived at it b\ 
 intuition." 
 
 "I want to say," Trescotte went on gravely, "tha^ 
 this conclusion was arrived at without consulting 
 me. It is a way Mrs. Trescotte has of thinking out
 
 246 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM f 
 
 troublesome things by herself and giving me the 
 results of her cogitations." 
 
 Trescotte looked at his wife with a tender smile, 
 for his mind went back to that summer day in Sara- 
 toga, two years before, when their destiny was 
 decided. The lawyer knew what he meant. Tres 
 cotte continued: 
 
 "In the forming of her opinion I had nothing 
 whatever to do. What credit there is in the nobility 
 of the thought is hers." 
 
 "Never mind that, Harry, keep to the story, * 
 laughed his wife, a little nervously. 
 
 "And the thought is noble," ignoring her inter 
 ruption. "But I am much disturbed and perplexed 
 by it, seeing many objections. My relation to the 
 matter is singular and perplexing. My duties are 
 conflicting, and I have not arrived at any conclusion." 
 
 "It is time you did," put in Mrs. Trevor-Allen. 
 "And that you conclude to take the boy if Mrs. 
 Adams will let you." 
 
 "Another intuition, Mrs. Trevor-Allen?" asked 
 the lawyer. 
 
 "Another intuition, Mr. Magrane," laughed the 
 lady. "Hurry up with the reasoning part. It is 
 one of the penalties we have to pay, Dorothy," she 
 said, turning to Mrs. Trescotte, who had taken a 
 seat beside her, "for the sweet consolation of men s 
 society. They will reason, when we know what to 
 do at once." 
 
 "What are the objections that have arisen in your 
 mind?" asked the lawyer, addressing Trescotte.
 
 DOROTHY S fROfOSAL. 241 
 
 "Well, the first is that, owing to the peculiar rela 
 tion I bear to the boy, it might be charged that I 
 had forced Mrs. Trescotte to an acquiescence." 
 
 "Doubtless," said the lawyer. 
 
 "Pure selfishness," said Mrs. Trevor- Allen. "Your 
 pride rebels at the thought." 
 
 Trescotte laughed. 
 
 "It is true," he said, "but I will dismiss my pride. * 
 
 "Objection number one disposed of!" cried Mrs. 
 Trevor-Allen. 
 
 "But what will its effect be on Mrs. Trescotte?" 
 
 "Objection number two," said the widow. 
 
 "Won t such an act raise up a great deal of talk 
 and set tongues wagging again?" 
 
 "They must wag, then," said Dorothy. "They 
 have wagged industriously for a year, and still we 
 live and are happy." 
 
 "A nine day s wonder. The christening of the 
 baby you have at home will cause as much," re- 
 marked the widow. 
 
 "I am inclined to believe," said the lawyer, "that 
 while gossip and speculation will follow the act, that 
 the utmost malice can do will be to insinuate that 
 Mrs. Trescotte had been forced to comply. But 
 since it is not so, it need not be counted here. In 
 deed, I m also inclined to think that the great 
 majority will approve and sympathize with the act, 
 as one virtuous and noble, and for which Mrs. Tres 
 cotte should be applauded." 
 
 "Oh, don t discuss me so much," cried Dorothy, 
 abashed. "Talk about the business we came on."
 
 248 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 "They will talk the world, I mean anyway," 
 put in the little widow very decidedly. "If you 
 don t take the child, people will talk; and if you do, 
 they will. Why, if I had taken the child and adopted 
 it, as I proposed, they would have whispered that it 
 was my own; that I had had it conveniently hidden 
 until I could become a widow." 
 
 "Why, Lou !" cried the horrified Dorothy. 
 
 "They would. Oh, I know this charming world 
 of ours. Well, objection number two is disposed 
 of. Now for objection number three." 
 
 Trescotte s face suddenly sobered. He began 
 impressively : 
 
 "Do not let anyone here misapprehend my words 
 in this statement. But I am sure no one here will 
 charge me with failing to give to my wife the deep 
 est love and the highest admiration for her sterling 
 character and true nature. When I say it now, I 
 say it before friends, who, when the clouds over us 
 vere the darkest, and when there was danger and 
 
 Broach in association with us, held out to us the 
 .:and of warm friendship, and I know that they will 
 iccept my words as being as sincere as they are 
 in fact." 
 
 Mr. Magrane and Mrs. Trevor-Allen bowed in 
 response, not caring to trust to voice, for they were 
 both affected by the deep feeling vibrating in Tres 
 cotte s tones. 
 
 Dorothy, with heightened color and dimmed eyes, 
 asked gently: "Harry, is it necessary to say this?" 
 
 "I think it is, in my own right," replied Trescotte
 
 DOROTHY S PROPOSAL. 249 
 
 gravely, and turning to the others: "The question 
 with me must always be the happiness of Mrs. Tres- 
 cotte. She has sacrificed much to continue in com 
 panionship with me, and to secure her happiness is 
 only that gratitude which I should show her. The 
 human heart is a mystery. The will does not always 
 control it. On the contrary often the will is sub 
 ordinate. The human heart has laws of its own, and 
 those laws, while often working in harmony with, 
 are not builded in, the logic of the mind. Now with 
 this preface I must ask, Will Mrs. Trescotte be 
 happy in the realization of this proposition? I have 
 answered the question of my duty to the boy, by 
 putting first, and before it, my duty to Mrs. Tres 
 cotte. Now, may not the presence of the child, 
 daily and hourly, be a vastly different thing in the 
 realization, than when in anticipation it is viewed 
 through the medium of exalted imagination and 
 high purpose? To have that child enter our house 
 and destroy our domestic peace, as it already has 
 that of Mr. and Mrs. Adams, would be to work 
 great harm, without accomplishing good to any 
 body." 
 
 He waited for an answer. There was silence. 
 Mrs. Trevor-Allen looked anxiously at Dorothy and 
 she was sitting with head bent. At length the 
 lawyer said : "But one person can answer your 
 question." 
 
 "And I am that person," said Dorothy, lifting her 
 head and looking at Trescotte very steadily, though 
 her voice was low and somewhat shaken.
 
 25 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 is reproach in what my husband has said. He does 
 not mean it, nor is it in his words. It is in what 
 I have cast out, by the help of this dear friend," 
 she put out her hand and took that of Mrs. Trevor- 
 Allen, "who has shown me what a good woman 
 can do under circumstances so heartrending as to 
 make by comparison my troubles pitifully small. 
 I can answer out of a heart and mind that have 
 struggled and won : Nothing will give me more joy 
 than to see, standing at my husband s knee, his son, 
 when my babe is in his arms." 
 
 "Objection number three is disposed of!" cried 
 the widow with a little gasp, and looking very 
 straight away from Mr. Magrane, who had bent 
 earnest eyes upon her when Dorothy made that 
 veiled reference to her troubles. 
 
 "Yes," said the lawyer, "Mrs. Trescotte has 
 answered. Judging from a disinterested stand 
 point, and a worldly one, I should say the case of 
 Mr. and Mrs. Adams is not analogous. What other 
 objections have you?" 
 
 "Now, purely legal," said Trescotte. "Can I in 
 law be prevented from joining Mrs. Trescotte in 
 adopting the lad?" 
 
 "No. A man may adopt his own children, if he 
 desires." 
 
 "Objection number four disposed of !" laughed the 
 widow. 
 
 "Finally," said Trescotte, "and I think this is 
 difficult: What effect upon us and our position will 
 the adoption have? Under your advice we have
 
 DOROTHY S PROPOSAL. 251 
 
 assumed that a marriage a common law marriage 
 did exist between Mr. and Mrs. Adams. Would 
 that assumption be changed or complicated?" 
 
 "I see your point," said the lawyer. "I can 
 answer now. I would go about this adoption, if 
 that be your determination, precisely as you are 
 doing now assuming the validity of that marriage. 
 I think it would strengthen the position you have 
 already taken." 
 
 "Objection number five disposed of, and the 
 whole subject disposed of!" cried the widow as she 
 sprang from her seat. "You see you have reasoned, 
 you men, and finally have gotten to where we two 
 women were in the beginning. Unless, Mr. Tres- 
 cotte, you have more foolish objections to raise." 
 
 This Trescotte laughingly disclaimed, and the 
 conversation took the direction as to the best means 
 to be employed in accomplishing Dorothy s desires. 
 The end was that Mr. Magrane was authorized to 
 open, in his own time and discretion, negotiations 
 with Mrs. Adams.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A BLOW FOR FREEDOM. 
 
 SEVERAL days passed before Trescotte, in his 
 character as the representative of Hilda, received a 
 message from the elder Waldemar. Then it was to 
 the effect that having had an interview with his son, 
 Mr. Waldemar had received pledges of reform, and 
 the old gentleman urged that, perhaps, Mrs. Walde 
 mar the younger would be content, and resume 
 relations. Trescotte had replied that while he 
 believed that Mrs. Waldemar would not agree to a 
 composition of the trouble, except on the terms she 
 had commisioned him to present, nevertheless, he 
 would lay the proposition before her. Hilda was 
 obdurate. A day or two more passed, and Mr. 
 Waldemar, the elder, desired a personal interview 
 with Hilda. The request was granted, though 
 reluctantly, and only upon the condition that Tres 
 cotte should be present. Though the elder Walde 
 mar pleaded the cause of his son well, Hilda refused 
 to consider, or to moderate her demand, insisting 
 that she had indubitable proof that Hermann, not 
 withstanding his father s assertions, had not re 
 formed. Forced to retire, Mr. Waldemar apparently 
 yielded to Hilda s demands- But days elapsed and
 
 A BLOW FOJ? FREEDOM. 253 
 
 nothing definite was done. Under one pretext or 
 another, delay was made by the Waldemars, father 
 and son, until Trescotte was satisfied, though he did 
 not say so to Hilda, that they were engaged in some 
 intrigue. They were, but not of so deep a charac 
 ter as Trescotte feared. The old banker believed 
 that Hilda could be tired out with the delay, and 
 would finally do something which could be tortured 
 into condonation of Hermann s offenses. 
 
 Three weeks passed in this game of delay, and 
 then a young man, a clerk of a well-known banking 
 house in the lower part of the city, called at the 
 Waldemar house, asking to see Mrs. Waldemar, and 
 refusing to communicate his business to anyone but 
 her. When Hilda came to him he placed a packet 
 in her hand and went away. Had the banking 
 people whom this young clerk represented known 
 the ends they were made to serve, they probably 
 would have been outraged ; but they didn t. They 
 had been requested by their London correspondent 
 to see that the packet reached the lady s hands and 
 hers alone. The packet was a letter from Lord 
 Buttontrave. 
 
 That letter was fateful. 
 
 Gently upbraiding her for having failed him, yet 
 excusing her upon some suppositional discovery of 
 their plans, he renewed the assurances of his love, 
 declared life without her companionship held out no 
 inducements for him, and generally expressed him 
 self as strong men do when they are desperately in 
 love, that is to say, foolishly and insanely.
 
 254 SHOULD SHE HA VE LEFT HlMt 
 
 The young matron read the letter a dozen times, 
 glorying in it. Then she did what few women have 
 the fortitude to do with a love letter. When its 
 words were burned into her memory she thre\v it 
 into the fire and watched it turn into ashes. She 
 thought a long time by the fire. At length, arising 
 with the air of one who had reached conclusions and 
 formed a plan, she sat herself at her writing table 
 and wrote a reply. She told him the truth of her 
 failure to meet him ; she expressed the assurances of 
 her undying love in terms not less ardent than his 
 own; she told him that she should put his affection 
 to the test ; that she was engaged upon a plan, the 
 successful issue of which would leave her free to 
 gratify his love and her own ; she demanded that he 
 should not write her for two months, but pledged 
 herself to write by every mail ; if, at the expiration 
 of that time his love for her held, he was to come to 
 her in New York; she charged him to destroy her 
 letters as received, telling him that any accidental 
 discovery of them might defeat her plan. 
 
 Sealing her letter, she dressed, called her carriage, 
 and driving to the office of Mr. Magrane, she asked 
 him to begin proceedings for a divorce from her hus 
 band. To say that the lawyer was astonished would 
 probably be to say too much, for lawyers in their 
 experiences are not easily astonished, but he cer 
 tainly did marvel that the most brilliant match of the 
 last season should have ended so sadly and so 
 quickly. The proofs she submitted shocked his 
 manhood and he accepted the retainer.
 
 A BLOW FOR FREEDOM. 855 
 
 Hilda went home, and gathering her personal 
 effects, went to Dorothy, asking a second time to be 
 taken in. This time she did not leave a letter for 
 Hermann. 
 
 The Trescottes were embarrassed. Their own 
 delicate position made them feel that Hilda, for her 
 own sake as well as theirs, should have gone any 
 where but to them; that in the publicity of the 
 divorce suit their own marital affairs would be 
 dragged out into the sunlight ; that they would be 
 charged with having aided and abetted, even influ 
 enced, Hilda to the course she was pursuing. They 
 were quite certain that Mrs. Courtenay, when she 
 came to know of the divorce suit, would visit her 
 anger and disappointment on them. Yet it never 
 occurred to them to deny Hilda shelter, nor did 
 they let her know their embarrassment. 
 
 They were quite right, as it turned out, in their 
 belief that Mrs. Courtenay would be angry with 
 them. But Hilda averted the threatened storm as 
 soon as its mutterings were heard, and in doing so 
 showed a strength and a decision that demonstrated 
 how great was the revolution that had been worked 
 in her in the few months of her wedded life. 
 
 "Mother," she said, when Mrs. Courtenay, first 
 learning of Hilda s suit as she did from the elder 
 Waldemar, sought her to have the proceedings with 
 drawn forthwith, and had begun angry objurgations 
 of Trescotte and Dorothy, who were both present ; 
 "mother, the less you have to say of this the better. 
 When you blame Henry and Dorothy for anything
 
 256 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 I have done, you are wholly wrong. I left Walde. 
 mar nearly a month ago; it was due to their persua 
 sions and influence that I returned to his house. 
 That I had left him a second time and begun a 
 divorce suit, they only knew when I came to them 
 for shelter." 
 
 "But why, child, did you not come to me, your 
 mother, for advice?" asked the distressed Mrs. 
 Courtenay, thinking that if Hilda had, how easily 
 she could have prevented the dreadful suit. 
 
 Hilda s reply was crushing, and oh, the bitterness, 
 the cruelty of it! 
 
 "Because I do not trust you. Having forced me, 
 young, ignorant, and innocent into this disgraceful 
 marriage to suit your own ends, your opinion could 
 have had no weight with me. I did not go to you, 
 because you have failed as a mother to me; because 
 you have used me merely as an implement in the 
 game you were playing; because I was merely a 
 stone on which to build increased social power; be 
 cause your ambition prevents you from judging 
 between morality and immorality; because you 
 would have sacrificed me, my heart, my soul, my 
 life, to have saved your own pride; I went where 
 someone could judge between right and wrong. 
 You cannot. I came to Henry and Dorothy. They 
 are leading holy lives. Your influence over me is 
 gone. You have done me a wrong; I cannot and 
 will not forgive you. If this is unchristianlike, 
 recollect I am what you have made me. If my life 
 is ruined, then you are the cause of the ruin. You
 
 A BLOW FOR FREEDOM. 257 
 
 may weep, but your tears are not of contrition 
 they are of disappointed pride." 
 
 Hilda, concluding her diatribe, left the room. So 
 intense and virulent had she been that Dorothy 
 fairly shuddered, while Trescotte was filled with pity 
 for the woman so humiliated ; and Mrs. Courtenay, 
 after seeking sympathy from those she had come 
 to denounce, went away murmuring something 
 about a thankless child and a serpent s tooth. 
 
 Hilda s suit was well on its way toward the day 
 appointed for the taking of testimony before Adams 
 arrived. He had come with a well-defined plan 
 which should place him in a position of less em 
 barrassment than he was then laboring under. But 
 on learning of the proposition of the Trescottes to 
 adopt the boy, he was willing to defer action until 
 the outcome of the movement could be ascertained. 
 Indeed, he expressed not only a willingness, but an 
 ardent desire to be reconciled to Mrs. Adams if suc 
 cess followed the effort, and thereby the stumbling, 
 block was removed. 
 
 Mr. Magrane seized the few days intervening 
 before the taking of testimony in Hilda s divorce 
 suit, and journeyed to Buffalo. As he expected, 
 Elsie received the proposition with alarm and dis 
 tress. Yet he set forth all the arguments, dwelling 
 upon the doubtful position of the lad were the pres 
 ent conditions to continue, or Adams to obtain the 
 divorce or declaration of non-marriage he was then 
 preparing to seek. Too shrewd to offer the hope of
 
 258 SHOULD SHE HA VE LEFT HIM t 
 
 reconciliation as a barter, nevertheless he deftly 
 insinuated the idea, and left the mother to become 
 accustomed to the thought. 
 
 The next day he again sought her, and again 
 went over the field of argument, and this time he 
 had the satisfaction of finding that she contemplated 
 the possibility of the IF, for she asked questions, 
 and raised objections to be answered, not as if they 
 were conclusive, as she had done the previous day. 
 Finally Mr. Magrane said : 
 
 "Mrs. Adams, you ought not to decide this ques 
 tion, either way, without the advice of someone who 
 will look at it disinterestedly, yet from your stand 
 point, and whom you can trust. Do you not know 
 some honorable lawyer to whom you can go?" 
 
 Mrs. Adams caught at the idea, and mentioned a 
 member of the bar of that city, whose name Mr. 
 Magrane recognized as of high repute, and who has 
 since risen to great distinction. Arranging to meet 
 Mrs. Adams at that lawyer s office the following day, 
 he left her. 
 
 When they met the next afternoon, Magrane saw 
 that Elsie still held the matter in abeyance. To 
 Mr. Dayton, for such was the lawyer s name Elsie 
 had selected to advise her, he said : 
 
 "If you will permit me, I will state the case from 
 the beginning, and end with the proposition to sub 
 mit which to Mrs. Adams is the reason of my visit 
 to Buffalo. If I go astray in any particular, Mrs. 
 Adams will correct me. I shall make no argument, 
 nor give color to my story. The parties I represent
 
 A BLOW FOR FREEDOM. 259 
 
 would not justify me in seeking to exert an undue 
 influence upon this lady. If she accepts their pro 
 posal, they desire she should do so fully believing 
 it to be the best thing she could do, and that all 
 interests were thus best served. They do not wish 
 to conceal the fact that in an acceptance of the pro 
 posal is the solution of many matters which perplex 
 them and Mrs. Adams as well. With this exordium 
 I address myself to the statement, asking your 
 patience, for it is intricate and complicated." 
 
 Mr. Dayton thought there was little need of ask- 
 ing his patience. Never in his experience had he 
 listened to a story more dramatic, involving more 
 novel situations, and he was charmed by Mr. 
 Magrane s methods of statement, which left no point 
 untouched in its proper place or bearing. When 
 Mr. Magrane had concluded, Mr. Dayton said: 
 
 "I also am inclined to take the view that a com- 
 mon law marriage exists. The idea of settlement 
 in another direction has entered my mind, but it is 
 yet too crude to formulate. I know this ex-magis 
 trate. He is about the city, a disreputable sort of 
 a fellow." 
 
 Mr. Dayton drummed his fingers upon his table 
 for a moment or two, looking through the windows 
 to the wintry sky. Mr. Magrane waited for him. 
 "If this idea," he continued, "were to take form, and 
 from it should come a solution of the difficulties 
 simpler than you now propose, and a sum of money 
 were required to effect it, I presume such would be 
 forthcoming."
 
 6o SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HTM? 
 
 "Any reasonable sum," promptly replied Mr 
 Magrane. 
 
 "Very well; you shall hear from me. In the 
 meantime I will advise with Mrs. Adams." 
 
 Mr. Magrane returned to New York to plunge 
 into Hilda s affairs
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE DECREE OF FREEDOM. 
 
 PUBLICITY, so much dreaded by all involved 
 directly or indirectly, did not accompany the trial of 
 the Waldemar divorce suit. The court designated 
 a lawyer as referee to take the testimony, which was 
 done behind closed doors. Under Mr. Magrane s 
 skillful management there was no public mention 
 of the reference, and society was deprived of a 
 choice morsel. 
 
 The Waldemars were disconcerted by Hilda s 
 vigorous movement. At the time they thought 
 they were adroitly playing the game of delay she 
 had forced them to a defense. And that defense, 
 the elder Waldemar knew, was weak and made 
 weaker by the fact that the younger Waldemar, at 
 the very time he was making pledges of reform, had 
 foolishly complicated himself. These facts led the 
 Waldemars to join in the effort for secrecy in the 
 proceedings. 
 
 The proofs of Hermann s turpitude were incon 
 trovertible, and there was practically no defense. 
 Consequently the taking of testimony occupied but 
 one day and the report of the referee, promptly
 
 *6 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 made, was promptly confirmed by the court. 
 Society, though it knew that Hilda had left her hus 
 band and was domiciled with the Trescotte s, was 
 only made aware of divorce proceedings when the 
 decree was entered and Hilda was freed from her 
 bonds. As it knew nothing of the Buttontrave epi 
 sode, and had heard of La Hoyle, it became the 
 fashion to sympathize with Hilda and denounce 
 Waldemar. 
 
 During all this time Hilda, as she had promised, 
 had written to Buttontrave by every mail. She had 
 told him in the series of letters what she had under- 
 taken, and what success the effort was making; she 
 had frankly told him that when put to the test of 
 sacrificing her own self-respect, in flying with him, 
 she had recoiled, for she had realized that she had 
 been driven to the thought of so reckless an act as 
 much by the misery of her life as by reason of her 
 love for him; she pledged him her undying affec 
 tion, and assured him that it grew as the days of 
 their separation grew; then she became practical 
 and formative, for she told him that his own love 
 was going to the test ; that if he, as he vowed, held 
 it steadfast and true, he would, when she was free, 
 seek her in honorable marriage; but if, as he applied 
 this test, he found that his love was not strong 
 enough for that course, it were better to forget her 
 and his unworthy passion for her, and devote him 
 self to the career which to win distinction in was his 
 ambition. 
 
 Of course I am aware that this is quite the reverse
 
 THE DECREE OF FREEDOM. 263 
 
 of romantic that it smacks altogether of too much 
 common sense and practicality. If I were writing 
 romance, I should have Buttontrave in a carriage 
 outside the door of the courthouse, the steam up 
 in his yacht in the harbor, and as the decree was 
 announced, while the Waldemars were wailing and 
 gnashing their teeth, the nobleman should whisk 
 Hilda off to some land of flowers, where the sun 
 always shines, and the soft, languorous winds always 
 blow over the blue Mediterranean Sea, where in love 
 and luxury they should live until Hilda s retributive 
 conscience pricking her, she should return to the 
 bosom of her weeping family to die of consumption 
 and a wailing orchestra ; but I am writing sober his 
 tory and must adhere to the facts. 
 
 So also must I record that instead of foolishly 
 rushing to this country and interfering with the suc 
 cessful progress of her suit, Buttontrave replied to 
 these letters despite Hilda s injunctions to the con 
 trary,, And in these letters his protestations of love 
 were as ardent, and his expressions of hope of her 
 success as fervid, as Hilda could desire. He assured 
 her that when she sent for him he would come 
 speedily, to weld her in a new bond of wedlock. 
 
 As soon as she was informed of the decree of the 
 court, which was immediately, Hilda drove to the 
 office of the cable and sent this message: 
 
 "Free. Come." 
 
 A few hours after she received his reply : 
 
 "On wings." 
 
 Which was quite pretty but nonsensical, for even
 
 264 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 poetic license cannot convert a dirty smokestack 
 and a thumping screw into the wings of a bird. 
 
 And of all this no one had knowledge in this 
 country save Hilda. 
 
 But Buttontrave did not come on wings nor any 
 thing else. On the day he should have sailed the 
 aged Duke of Somersfield, his father, after a brief 
 illness not considered dangerous, died, and the suc 
 cession to the estates and the titles delayed him, as 
 he instantly cabled to Hilda. But he begged her to 
 go to London, where, he urged, they might be 
 quietly married and take up that life of joy and 
 happiness they had promised themselves. Hilda, 
 her expectations a little dashed, sat down to think 
 earnestly over this proposition.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A SIMPLE SOLUTION. 
 
 APPARENTLY the enterprise of the adoption of 
 the boy languished. Days wasted and weeks grew 
 into months, and though Mr. Dayton s communica 
 tions held out hopes, they meant delay. When hope 
 was about gone, there came one day a letter from 
 Buffalo informing them that Mrs. Adams had finally 
 yielded, and consented to give up her boy to the 
 care and adoption of Mr. and Mrs. Trescotte. And 
 Mr. Dayton suggested that Trescotte and Dorothy 
 should be in Buffalo on a certain specified day to 
 receive the child. And further, that if Mr. Adams 
 could be induced to be in that city, on that day, good 
 ends would be served. The letter was particularly 
 urgent that Mr. Magrane should on no account fail 
 to be present, as the "short cut" had been found to 
 be practicable. What that "short cut" was, puzzled 
 Mr. Magrane. Being endowed with that great 
 quality, patience, however, he dismissed the riddle 
 until he could see Mr. Dayton. 
 
 Though Mr. Adams demurred somewhat at what 
 he called "traveling in the dark," yet he agreed to 
 go with the party; and Mrs. Trevor-Allen, insisting 
 that having ridden in the front from the beginning
 
 266 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 of the chase, she would not permit herself to be 
 unhorsed at the end, declared that she would be in 
 at the death, so she also accompanied them. The 
 terms of this declaration proved to me that the 
 lively widow had followed the anise seed bag on 
 Long Island. 
 
 At the time specified, Dorothy and Trescotte, 
 Mrs. Trevor-Allen and Mr. Magrane assembled at 
 the office of Mr. Dayton rather, one should say, 
 series of offices, for there were many rooms, the 
 doors between which, on this occasion at least, were 
 closed. The party was led into an inner room, 
 where it was greeted by Mr. Dayton warmly and 
 with smiles. Great satisfaction was pictured on his 
 broad face. After seating his visitors he went to 
 his desk, and taking from it a paper called Mr. 
 Magrane aside. 
 
 "Where is Mr. Adams?" he asked. 
 
 "At the hotel, awaiting summons." 
 
 "That is very good," said Mr. Dayton. "We will 
 need him. Indeed I think I will send for him now." 
 
 He excused himself while he gave the necessary 
 instructions and returned to Mr. Magrane, handing 
 him the paper he had held in his hand. It was a 
 certified copy of a law of the State of New York, 
 recently passed. 
 
 "What is this?" asked Mr. Magrane. 
 
 "The short cut." 
 
 "I do not understand it," said Mr. Magrane, 
 puzzled. 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Dayton, his face positively beam-
 
 A SIMPLE SOLUTION. 3&7 
 
 ing, "when you made the statement to me of this 
 most extraordinary case, the idea occurred to me 
 that there was a short cut to the settlement of 
 Mr, and Mrs. Trescotte s marital troubles, doing 
 away with the necessity of resorting to the assump 
 tion of a common law marriagCc After thinking it 
 over, I sent for this ex-magistrate, Ebert, and ques 
 tioned him., The facts were as you had stated 
 them. He was bitter against Adams. He thought 
 Adams wanted freedom, and that having informed 
 Adams that he never had been married he should 
 have received payment for his information, which 
 he never had. Working upon this feeling, I drew a 
 bill, confirming and legalizing all of Ebert s acts as 
 a magistrate for the seven days after his removal, 
 and sent Ebert to Albany to secure its passage. 
 His acts were few, but among them was the mar- 
 riage of Mr. and Mrs. Adams. The bill has, after 
 the usual delay, become a law. You hold in your 
 hand a duly certified copy of it. The marriage of 
 Mr. and Mrs. Trescotte is therefore as valid as the 
 rites of the church and an act of the legislature can 
 make it, and no doubt rests upon the Adams mar 
 riage. I have paid Ebert twenty-five hundred 
 dollars for his consent to this act and his services in 
 its passage." 
 
 "And shall be reimbursed before I leave your 
 office," cried the delighted Magrane, marveling at 
 the simplicity of the solution of Mr. and Mrs. Tres- 
 Cotte s difficulties. 
 
 Joyfully he took the law to his clients and ex-
 
 268 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 plained its effect, slyly remarking that organized 
 society could correct its own defects, if one could 
 learn its clumsy machinery. It was with difficulty 
 that Dorothy could grasp the significance of the 
 law, but when she did she looked with such grateful 
 eyes upon Mr. Dayton that the bluff old lawyer was 
 much disturbed. 
 
 "Oh, dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Trevor-Allen in a 
 bored tone, "what uninteresting people you have 
 suddenly become merely commonplace married 
 people." 
 
 Mr. Dayton cast an indignant glance at the widow, 
 much to the amusement of Mr. Magrane, who had 
 come to know the ingenious expedients to which 
 she resorted to conceal her own emotions. 
 
 "You perceive, Mrs. Trevor-Allen," he said ; "that 
 the reason of the animal man does some time serve 
 a purpose." 
 
 "Not reason," she replied pertly, "a little superior 
 knowledge denied the woman by the tyrant man." 
 
 But this was not the business that had brought, 
 them there, so Mr. Dayton brought them back to 
 their mutton. 
 
 "Mrs. Adams and the child are in the adjoining 
 room," he said. "She has consented. It is really 
 the best thing under all the circumstances she could 
 do. She did not yield easily, but she is firm now. 
 I could have told you earlier than I did, but I 
 wanted to pass this law first, and I thought it well 
 that the little woman should first become accus 
 tomed to the thought of separation before it actually
 
 A SIMPLE SOLUTION. 269 
 
 occurred. Come, Mr. and Mrs. Trescotte, let me 
 take you to her. It would be better," he added, 
 turning to the others, "to let them go in alone." 
 
 He opened the door, and as it swung back Mrs. 
 Trevor-Allen caught a glimpse of a picture that 
 lived in her memory many days the picture of a 
 slight, graceful figure, a sad face sweetened with 
 yearning, hopeless love, a child strained to the heart 
 of that figure, a child face looking up wonderingly 
 into those yearning eyes bent over it. A fleeting 
 glimpse, lasting but an instant, but oh, how vivid. 
 Often afterward, in the solemn watches of the night, 
 that picture arose, filling her heart with pity and 
 her eyes with tears. 
 
 Mr. Dayton remained but a moment. When he 
 came from the room his face was strangely drawn, 
 and he was so busy with the papers at his desk that 
 he could not address those in his room, and when 
 a clerk came to tell him Mr. Adams had come, he 
 went out to meet him. By and by he came back, 
 followed by Mr. Adams. Mr. Magrane addressed a 
 remark to the newcomer, but Mr. Adams did not 
 seem to know what had been said, and replied at 
 random, much preoccupied. 
 
 Mr. Dayton went into the room where Mrs. 
 Adams was, and then Trescotte and Dorothy came 
 out. The boy was in Trescotte s arms, looking with 
 wondering doubt into the face so near his own. 
 Tears she did not seek to conceal were in Dorothy s 
 eyes, and a pitying smile on her face. She rested a 
 hand on Trescotte s arm as she listened to the tale
 
 27 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM? 
 
 of the wonderful things Trescotte was to show the 
 little lad, and the most wonderful pony that ever 
 was, to be all his own, whose silver tail and harness 
 and cart won an eager light to the dark eyes of the 
 lad, and wooed a smile to his lip. 
 
 Dayton came again, very busy and very mysteri 
 ous, and beckoned to Adams. The door closed 
 upon them, and there was a moment or two of 
 silence. Then a soft, glad cry stole through the 
 door, and all was silence again. The lad prattled 
 about the silver tail and the long whip, eager to go. 
 
 "Oh," cried Mrs. Trevor-Allen to Mr. Magrane, 
 "is there anything in this world more pathetically 
 cruel than the eagerness of a child to run from 
 the clinging love of its mother to the promised 
 rainbow." 
 
 Mr. Dayton appeared for the fourth or fifth time, 
 his face working nervously, and there was so much 
 of it to work, again busy with the papers on his 
 desk. Then he came to the group. 
 
 "There is a little woman in there," pointing to 
 the door that hid her, as he found his handkerchief 
 and blew a sonorous blast, " who has experienced in 
 a single hour the deepest sorrow a mother can know, 
 the loss of her child, and the highest joy a wife may 
 know, the proof of the deep love of the man who 
 has won hers. Go now, good people. Do not 
 wring her heart with fresh sorrow by letting her see 
 you carry her child away." 
 
 As they prepared to go, Mrs. Trevor-Allen said 
 to Mr. Magrane:
 
 A SIMPLE SOLUTION. 7* 
 
 "I shall marry again." 
 
 "Whom?" 
 
 "Mr. Dayton." 
 
 "Then I ll remain to murder him." 
 
 But Magrane didn t, only to complete a few 
 details and draw a check, but long enough to see 
 Mr. and Mrs. Adams depart Adams with his wife s 
 arm drawn tenderly within his own, and a glad light 
 of happy content on his face, and Elsie, with what 
 he had never seen on human face before mingled 
 joy and grief, love and sorrow. 
 
 When the Trescottes arrived at home, Hilda re 
 joiced with them over the happy settlement of the 
 troubles that had vexed them so long, and astonished 
 them by announcing her early departure for Europe, 
 smiling curiously at their wonder. 
 
 What most amazed the people involved in this 
 tale was the rapidity with which the essential fact 
 of these happenings the regularity of Dorothy s 
 marriage got abroad. 
 
 " What a horrible thing, you know !" cried Society. 
 "Here have people been saying something was very 
 wrong about the Trescotte marriage, when it turns 
 out there was nothing wrong, at all. It is positively 
 awful that people should talk so. And the Tres 
 cottes were so reserved and high-minded that they 
 would not stoop to deny the slander. How people 
 can do such things passes all understanding. I 
 must call on dear Mrs. Trescotte and show that at 
 least I am above such littleness." 
 
 And the silver salver at the door filled up rapidly
 
 272 SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM f 
 
 with cards; and there were nods and bows, and 
 gracious smiles in public places, and invitations to 
 teas and dinners. And finally came the apotheosis. 
 The Trescottes found their names high up on the 
 list of the patron Patriarchs, as Dorothy, with a 
 merry laugh, showed Mr. Magrane one evening, giv 
 ing that gentleman an opportunity to indulge his 
 habit of quotation : 
 
 " Applause 
 
 Waits on success, the fickle multitude, 
 Like the light straw that floats along the stream, 
 Glide with the current still, and follow fortune." 
 
 He sauntered away to the smoking room, very 
 much at home in this house, to the happiness of 
 which he had so much contributed. 
 
 "This is an earthly world. Downs, give me a 
 cigar." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " When to do harm is often laudable; and a 
 glass of Madeira, Downs." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " To do good, sometimes accounted dangerous 
 folly. " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Oh, you agree with Shakspere? You re a phil 
 osopher, Downs." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 Mr. Magrane supplied such of this tale as was 
 unknown to me one bright moonlight evening on
 
 A SIMPLE SOLUTION 273 
 
 the deck of an ocean steamer, about a year after the 
 close of its events, prompted from time to time by 
 his wife. From old habit, I addressed her as Mrs. 
 Trevor-Allen. She corrected me, laughingly saying 
 that though she had increased her state she had 
 diminished her name. They were going abroad 
 for a prolonged stay, and proposed to spend some 
 time with the Duchess of Somersfield. Did I recol 
 lect the duchess? Hilda Courtenay, you know 
 she who was divorced from young Waldemar? 
 Oh-h, yes! Indeed! A duchess, hey! 
 
 THE END.
 
 THE STORY OF A FIGHT FOR A THRONE 
 
 D Artagnan, the 
 King Maker . . . 
 
 By ALEXANDRE DUMAS. 
 
 Written originally by Dumas as a play, and now for the 
 first time novelized and translated into English. 
 
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 i2ino., Illustrated. Price, $1.00. 
 
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 THE STORY OF A HOPELESS LOVE. 
 
 Tons of Treasure 
 
 By WILLIAM HENRY BISHOP. 
 
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 to the woman who is loved 
 
 12010., Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
 
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 A BOOK FULL OF "HUMAN" INTEREST. 
 
 QUEER PEOPLE 
 
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 There is a delightful pen sketch of a 
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 i2mo., Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
 
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 EERIE TALES OF "CHINATOWN." 
 
 Bits of .... 
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 By WILLIAM E. S. FALES 
 
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 "Bits of Broken China" is undoubtedly 
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 i8mo. Cloth. Price, 75 cents. 
 
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 Toothsome Tales 
 Told in Slang 
 
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 ABC OF BRIDGE 
 
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 Edited for American Players 
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