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The Mettle of the Pasture by James Lane Allen
page 62 of 303 (20%)
The implied rebuff provoked her. Irritation winged a venomous
little shaft:

"At least no woman has ever held _you_ responsible for her
unhappiness."

"You are quite right, madam," he replied, "the only irreproachable
husband in this world is the man who has no wife."

"By the way," she continued, "in all these years you have not told
me why you never married. Come now, confess!"

How well she knew! How often as she had driven through the streets
and observed him sitting alone in the door of his office or walking
aimlessly about, she had leaned back and laughed.

"Madam," he replied, for he did not like the question, "neither
have you ever told me why you married three times. Come now,
confess."

It would soon be time for him to leave; and still she had not
gained her point.

"Rowan was here this afternoon," she remarked carelessly. He was
sitting so that the light fell sidewise on his face. She noted how
alert it became, but he said nothing.

"Isabel refused to see him."

He wheeled round and faced her with pain and surprise.
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