"I couldn't stay till the end, you know," she said. "I had to go before
the verdict. What happened?"
"Oh, we won--hands down; but upon my soul I'm not sure that she did
actually commit adultery. There are some women--men too, for that
matter--who'll play with fire till their hearts are burnt out--but
conventionality drags 'em back from the one deed that will absolutely
crush their conscience, and they think themselves confoundedly
ill-treated when they get their retribution. They whine, like that
woman did to-day; but I'm inclined to believe that on the vital clause
she was telling the truth."
Sally had looked at him, wondering and in amazement; but she had said
nothing, mistrusting herself to speak.
The effect of this incident upon her mind had softened with time--in
time she had practically forgotten about it. And then came round the
end of the third year. The previous year he had given up journalism
entirely, his time being fully occupied with legal business at the
courts. He took chambers to himself in the Temple. Sometimes Sally
came down there on a quiet day and they had tea together.
"We'll pretend," she would say, "that you've never met me before--and
it's awfully unwise for me to come and see you in chambers--but I
come and then perhaps--while I'm making the tea--you suddenly put
your arms round my waist, and of course I'm awfully offended.
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