Madam Sapphira by Edgar Saltus

"Carol, this is the saddest thing that ever happened to me."

On reaching the hotel, Nevius, after securing rooms, had sent for the papers. On the first page of the one he first examined was his name in leaded type, and beneath it, written in that reporter spirit which stops not even at a column, was an account of the last sensation, the petition of Mrs. Carol Nevius for divorce on the ground of her husband's adultery with Janet Adulam and Gertrude Vührer. Though he had eaten nothing since noon, he sickened as he read, and was obliged to put the page down. The remainder of the article declared that after a painful scene at his house he had confessed his misconduct and fled abroad. The other papers contained articles of similar tenor, though one, more enterprising perhaps, stated that the correspondents were the housemaid and the cook.

An hour passed before Nevius could hold a pen, then he had sent a message to Jones, and now, as the novelist, cloaked in an Inverness, the white of his neckcloth just visible, entered the room, there was no cynicism in his voice, a sympathy merely, abiding and sincere.

"The saddest," he repeated with just a glance at where the papers lay. "If there are words of consolation I do not know them."

"It is hideous," Nevius muttered. "I don't wonder you advised me to remain where I was -- "

"Did I suppose -- could anyone suppose such a thing possible? When I read that drivel I was in a rage beside which the anger of Achilles was a fleeting annoyance. Your wife ought to be tarred and feathered."

Nevius raised a hand in protest. "It is not her fault. It's that father-in-law of mine."

"Father-at-law you mean. But that's neither here nor there. The thing is done, and a more abominable iniquity never was committed. That your wife should wish a divorce, passe encore. But that in her effort to get it she should put a young girl into leaded type, a girl who was her intimate friend; a girl whose people were governors of New York at a time when the Snaiths, if they existed, were cleaning the streets; no, in the entire history of civilized life there is no parallel for it. And who is this other correspondent? Why didn't she stick to her and let Miss Adulam out?"

"Hilda had nothing to do with it! " Nevius answered dejectedly. "Don't say anything against her. I can't and won't permit it."

"Bosh."

But the novelist spoke in an undertone. From a box on the table he took a gold-tipped cigarette, at which article of London luxury he sniffed, and for a while there was silence in that room.

But presently Nevius, who had sat, his face in his hands, looked wearily up at his friend. "What do they say?"

"Who? People in general? Everyone seems to be very well pleased. Some of the men are indignant at the publicity, knowing how, in similar circumstances, they would feel themselves. Others are indignant, too, but their indignation is partly envy, partly disgust, at having no such chances themselves. As for the women, that is a different guitar. You have got one of their sacred sex into trouble, and as a body they won't forgive. Though individually, were you not rather compromising at present, you might toss monogrammed cambrics as before. On the whole, then, I may say that people in general are rather pleased than otherwise. There is a land where there is much joy over the sinner that repents. In the world we live in the joy is at his detection."

Nevius leaned across the table.

"Do you mean to say that it is believed?"

"Well, you know -- " And for a second the unembarrassable Jones actually hesitated. "You see, Carol, to be frank with you, more or less, don't you know, for some time past people have connected Miss Adulam's name with yours. And they say, you know, that there were times when she -- well, when she came to see you."

Nevius sank back.

"But even so," he queried. "Even so -- "

"Oh, if you put it in that light, in any light for that matter, I am with you. Of course it was sufficient for me to see it stated that you had made a confession, to know that you had done nothing of the sort. It is what we don't do that gets into the papers, never what we have done, which after all," the novelist added to himself, "is sufficient for most of us. The point is here, however, people had doubts, now they have none. Naturally you will declare Miss Adulam innocent, and the world will treat her as though you had never opened your head. But tell me, what sort of evidence have they?"

"Evidence! As God is my witness that girl is as straight as your sister."