me lovingly, and did not mean to leave me to any shame. I am sure he
never meant to leave me poor, and to let me suffer all the publicity
about that poor woman. I am sure he always meant to change the will in
time, but, you see, all that mischief is done and can't be undone. I
mean the humiliation and the idea that she was in Florence all the time
during our married life, and all the talk, and my having to meet this
unfortunate girl who has his money. All of them think he was unfaithful
to me, and nothing can put that right. Nothing--I mean nothing of this
world--can put any of that right. And I can't bear the idea of a quarrel
and going to law with these people for money; it may be pride, but I
simply can't bear it."

"But, don't you see," said Edmund, "that if we could prove there was
another will, that would clear David's reputation."

"It won't prevent people knowing that there was the first will and all
about the poor woman in Florence."

"No; but it will make people feel that he behaved properly in the end.
It will alter their bad opinion of him."

"But it will also make them go on thinking and talking of the scandal,
and if it is left alone they will forget. People forget so soon, because
there is always something new to talk about. He will just take his place
among the heroes who died for their country, and the rest will be
forgotten."

Edmund looked at her quickly, as if taking stock of the delicate nature
of the complex womanly materials he had to deal with, but her face was
still averted.