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Updated: June 17, 2025
She was ashamed of her wickedness; she was eager to sacrifice herself, for the good of the once-dear friend whom she had wronged. Useless longings! Too late! too late! She regretted it bitterly. Why? Comparing Mrs. Linley's prospects with hers, was there anything to justify regret for the divorced wife?
Mrs. Linley's chair happened to be near one of the windows, which commanded a view of the drive leading to the main entrance of the house. A carriage had just arrived bringing holiday travelers to visit that part of Mount Morven which was open to strangers. She watched them as they got out, talking and laughing, and looking about them.
Two letters only presented an exception to the general rule. The first was addressed in Mrs. Linley's handwriting, and bore the postmark of Hanover. Kitty's mother had not only succeeded in getting to the safe side of the lake she and her child had crossed the German Ocean as well. In one respect her letter was a remarkable composition.
It's a nice thing to have friends, I know; but, oh, what a relief it is sometimes to get rid of them!" She kissed him, and let him go. Left by himself, to compare his wife's innocent mistake with the terrible enlightenment that awaited her, Linley's courage failed him. He leaned on the quaintly-carved rail that protected the outer side of the landing, and looked down at the stone hall far below.
Sheridan, who owed to this liberal conduct not only the possession of the woman he loved, but the means of supporting her during the first years of their marriage, spoke invariably of Mr. Long, who lived to a very advanced age, with all the kindness and respect which such a disinterested character merited. Linley's family, which the kindred tastes of the young people soon ripened into intimacy.
In bygone days, they had been amazed when her unexpected readiness and firmness of decision presented an exception to a general rule just as they were amazed now. Herbert tried a last remonstrance. "Is it possible, Catherine, that you don't see the cruelty of showing that newspaper to Miss Westerfield?" Even this appeal to Mrs. Linley's sympathies failed to shake her resolution.
"Suggested by Kitty," she added, pointing to an inlaid miniature portrait of the child. Herbert read the inscription: To Sydney Westerfield with Catherine Linley's love. He gave the bracelet back to his wife in silence; his manner was more serious than usual he kissed her hand. The day of the dinner-party marked an epoch in Sydney's life.
"If there is, my dear fellow, you will hear of it tomorrow." So they parted. Comfortably established in the drawing-room, Mrs. Presty had just opened her favorite newspaper. Her only companion was Linley's black poodle, resting at her feet. On the opening of the door, the dog rose advanced to caress his master and looked up in Linley's face. If Mrs.
Though Sheridan refused to join in legal proceedings from an unwillingness, perhaps, to keep Miss Linley's name any longer afloat upon public conversation yet this revival of the subject, and the conflicting statements to which it gave rise, produced naturally in both parties a relapse of angry feelings, which was very near ending in a third duel between them.
Or, if they had been allowed to pursue their investigations a little further, and had found their way next into Mrs. Linley's sitting room, here again a transformation scene would have revealed more modern luxury, presented in the perfection which implies restraint within the limits of good taste.
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