When he paused tentatively, his wife
remarked:--
"Alexander, you are a very great man, but you are a wretchedly poor
liar. As Mr. Washington would say, your sincerity is one of the most
valuable of your gifts, and without it you could not convince a child.
As if this were not enough, only yesterday, on the boat, I overheard two
of your intimate friends discussing this intrigue as a matter of course.
There was not a word of censure or criticism; they were merely wondering
when you would add to your enemies; for as this woman was desperately in
love with you, she was bound to hate you as violently when you tired of
her. I think men are horrors!" she burst out passionately. "When, unable
to bear this terrible affliction any longer, and unwilling to worry my
poor mother, I took that letter and my grief to my father--what do you
suppose he said? After he had tried to convince me that the story was a
base fabrication, and that an anonymous communication should be
destroyed unread--as if any woman living would not read an anonymous
letter!--he said, crossly, that women did not understand men and never
made allowances for them; and he went on to make as many excuses for you
as if he were defending himself; and then wound up by saying that he did
not believe a word of it, and that the letter was written by someone you
had flouted.
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