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Updated: June 22, 2025
There are times when the constancy of the woman one cannot marry is almost as trying as that of the woman one does not want to. Glennard turned up his reading-lamp and stirred the fire. He had a long evening before him and he wanted to crowd out thought with action. He had brought some papers from his office and he spread them out on his table and squared himself to the task....
"Aunt Virginia talked to me very seriously. It will be a great relief to mother and the others to have me provided for in that way for two years. I must think of that, you know." She glanced down at her gown which, under a renovated surface, dated back to the first days of Glennard's wooing. "I try not to cost much but I do." "Good Lord!" Glennard groaned.
The men at the club all but those who were "in it" were proverbially "tired" of Dinslow's patent, and none more so than Glennard, whose knowledge of its merits made it loom large in the depressing catalogue of lost opportunities.
Of the points in his wife's character not in direct contact with his own, Glennard now discerned his ignorance; and the baffling sense of her remoteness was intensified by the discovery that, in one way, she was closer to him than ever before.
"Hullo, Glennard!" a voice said, as an electric-car, late that afternoon, dropped him at an uptown corner. He looked up and met the interrogative smile of Barton Flamel, who stood on the curbstone watching the retreating car with the eye of a man philosophic enough to remember that it will be followed by another.
The thought turned Glennard sick, but he preserved sufficient lucidity to tell himself, a moment later, that his last hope of self-control would be lost if he yielded to the temptation of seeing a hidden purpose in everything she said and did. How much Flamel guessed, he had no means of divining; nor could he predicate, from what he knew of the man, to what use his inferences might be put.
Glennard?" he heard her ask; and, in reply to Alexa's vague interrogation "Why, the 'Aubyn Letters' it's the only book people are talking of this week." Mrs. Dresham immediately saw her advantage. "You HAVEN'T read them? How very extraordinary! As Mrs. Armiger says, the book's in the air; one breathes it in like the influenza." Glennard sat motionless, watching his wife.
The motion of the train set it dancing up and down on the page of a magazine that a man in front of him was reading.... At the door he was told that Mrs. Glennard was still out, and he went upstairs to his room and dragged the books from his pocket. They lay on the table before him like live things that he feared to touch.... At length he opened the first volume.
"It was your manner " "My manner?" "Whenever the book was mentioned. Things you said once or twice your irritation I can't explain " Glennard, unconsciously, had moved nearer. He breathed like a man who has been running. "You knew, then, you knew" he stammered. The avowal of her love for Flamel would have hurt him less, would have rendered her less remote.
What if his wife had already sorted the papers and had told Flamel of her discovery? Well, it was no news to Flamel that Glennard was in receipt of a royalty on the "Aubyn Letters."... A sudden resolve to know the worst made him lift his eyes to his wife as the door closed on Flamel.
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