The next
morning he was to take a walk with Clare, and while he lounged about the
drawing-room, waiting for her to come down, a servant came in with the
Sunday papers. Ralph picked one up, and was absently unfolding it when
his eye fell on his own name: a sight he had been spared since the last
echoes of his divorce had subsided. His impulse was to fling the paper
down, to hurl it as far from him as he could; but a grim fascination
tightened his hold and drew his eyes back to the hated head-line.
NEW YORK BEAUTY WEDS FRENCH NOBLEMAN MRS. UNDINE MARVELL CONFIDENT POPE
WILL ANNUL PREVIOUS MARRIAGE MRS. MARVELL TALKS ABOUT HER CASE
There it was before him in all its long-drawn horror--an "interview"--an
"interview" of Undine's about her coming marriage! Ah, she talked about
her case indeed! Her confidences filled the greater part of a column,
and the only detail she seemed to have omitted was the name of her
future husband, who was referred to by herself as "my fiance" and by
the interviewer as "the Count" or "a prominent scion of the French
nobility."
Ralph heard Laura's step behind him. He threw the paper aside and their
eyes met.
"Is this what you wanted to tell me last night?"
"Last night?--Is it in the papers?"
"Who told you? Bowen? What else has he heard?"
"Oh, Ralph, what does it matter--what can it matter?"
"Who's the man? Did he tell you that?" Ralph insisted. He saw her
growing agitation.
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