"
"I have no sentiment toward them, sir!" he exclaimed. "They are
non-existent, sir--nonexistent! Your wife's mother ceased to be a Forrester
when she married that scoundrel. Your wife is still less a Forrester."
"True," said I. "She is a Blacklock."
He winced, and it reminded me of the night of my marriage and Anita's
expression when the preacher called her by her new name. But I held his
gaze, and we looked each at the other fixedly for, it must have been, full
half a minute. Then he said courteously: "What do you wish?"
I went straight to the point. My color may have been high, but my voice
did not hesitate as I explained: "I wish to make my wife financially
independent. I wish to settle on her a sum of money sufficient to give her
an income that will enable her to live as she has been accustomed. I know
she would not take it from me. So, I have come to ask you to pretend to
give it to her--I, of course, giving it to you to give."
Again--we looked full and fixedly each at the other. "Come to the house,
Blacklock," he said at last in a tone that was the subtlest of compliments.
And he linked his arm in mine. Halfway to the rambling stone house, severe
in its lines, yet fine and homelike, quaintly resembling its owner, as a
man's house always should, he paused.
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