was still in the arms of his Circe--at Antibes, to which place they
had retired. He got sick of the lady quite quickly, but not before
Leonora had had such lessons in the art of business from her
attorney that she had her plan as clearly drawn up as was ever that
of General Trochu for keeping the Prussians out of Paris in 1870.
It was about as effectual at first, or it seemed so.

That would have been, you know, in 1895, about nine years before
the date of which I am talking--the date of Florence's getting her
hold over Leonora; for that was what it amounted to. . . . Well,
Mrs Ashburnham had simply forced Edward to settle all his
property upon her. She could force him to do anything; in his
clumsy, good-natured, inarticulate way he was as frightened of her
as of the devil. And he admired her enormously, and he was as
fond of her as any man could be of any woman. She took
advantage of it to treat him as if he had been a person whose
estates are being managed by the Court of Bankruptcy. I suppose
it was the best thing for him.

Anyhow, she had no end of a job for the first three years or so.
Unexpected liabilities kept on cropping up--and that afflicted fool
did not make it any easier. You see, along with the passion of the
chase went a frame of mind that made him be extraordinarily
ashamed of himself. You may not believe it, but he really had
such a sort of respect for the chastity of Leonora's imagination that
he hated--he was positively revolted at the thought that she should
know that the sort of thing that he did existed in the world. So he
would stick out in an agitated way against the accusation of ever
having done anything. He wanted to preserve the virginity of his
wife's thoughts. He told me that himself during the long walks we