"I beg your pardon, I must have got it from the press notices of your book of poetry.I knew that Montgomery was only a stage name, and as it was necessary that I should have another in ****** the business investments you were good enough to charge me with, I used what I thought was your real name.It can be changed, or you can sign M'Corkle.""Let it go," said Miss Montgomery, resuming her former manner.
"What matters? I wish there was no such thing as business.Well,"she resumed, after a pause, "my husband's name is Hurlstone.""But there was no Hurlstone on the passenger list either," said Brimmer."I knew them all, and their friends.""Not in the list from the States; but if he came on board at Callao, you wouldn't have known it.I knew that he arrived there on the Osprey a few days before the Excelsior sailed."Mr.Brimmer's eyes changed their expression.
"And you want to find him?"
"No," she said, with an actress's gesture."I want to know the truth.I want to know if I am still tied to this man, or if I am free to follow the dictates of my own conscience,--to make my life anew,--to become--you see I am not ashamed to say it--to become the honest wife of some honest man.""A divorce would suit your purpose equally," said Brimmer coldly.
"It can be easily obtained."
"A divorce! Do you know what that means to a woman in my profession? It is a badge of shame,--a certificate of disgrace,--an advertisement to every miserable wretch who follows me with his advances that I have no longer the sanctity of girlhood, nor the protection of a wife."There was tragic emotion in her voice, there were tears in her eyes.Mr.Brimmer, gazing at her with what he firmly thought to be absolute and incisive penetration, did not believe either.But like most practical analysts of the half-motived ***, he was only half right.The emotion and the tears were as real as anything else in the woman under criticism, notwithstanding that they were not as real as they would have been in the man who criticised.He, however, did her full justice on a point where most men and all women misjudged her: he believed that, through instinct and calculation, she had been materially faithful to her husband; that this large goddess-like physique had all the impeccability of a goddess; that the hysterical dissipation in which she indulged herself was purely mental, and usurped and preoccupied all other emotions.In this public exposition of her beauty there was no sense of shame, for there was no sense of the passion it evoked.
And he was right.But there he should have stopped.Unfortunately, his masculine logic forced him to supply a reason for her coldness in the existence of some more absorbing passion.He believed her ambitious and calculating: she was neither.He believed she might have made him an admirable copartner and practical helpmeet: he was wrong.
"You know my secret now," she continued."You know why I am anxious to know my fate.You understand now why I sympathize with"--she stopped, and made a half contemptuous gesture--"with these men Markham and Keene.THEY do not know it; perhaps they prefer to listen to their own vanity--that's the way of most men;but you do know it, and you have no excuse for misjudging me, or undeceiving them." She stopped and looked at the clock."They will be here in five minutes; do you wish them to find you already here?""It is as YOU wish," stammered Brimmer, completely losing his self-possession.
"I have no wish," she said, with a sublime gesture of indifference.