Madeline signified her approval, and they separated to dress for dinner.

Claire Keith made her toilet with swift, firm fingers, and all the while she was thinking fiercely, scornfully. She was not stunned by the blow that had stricken her love and her pride. Rather, it seemed, she was quickened into unusual activity and clearness of thought.

After a time, perhaps, she would feel more the sadness, the cruelty, of the hurt; now she felt the outrage to her pride, and a fierce self-scorn that she could have ever loved a man so base. She hated Edward Percy for having deceived her, and equally she despised herself for having been thus deceived by this specious flatterer.

"You little fool!" she scoffed at her image reflected back from her mirror. "You are a very idiot among idiots! I wonder where are all your high notions now. So," giving her hair an angry jerk, "you perched yourself aloft on a pinnacle, didn't you? You looked down upon all your sisterhood who were deceived, or betrayed, or sorrowing; and you wondered how women could be so weak; how they _could_ be deluded by base men. You looked upon poor dead Kitty, and wondered what was the flaw in her intellect that made her the slave of a gambler and a villain. You argued that only an unsophisticated school girl could be deceived as was poor Madeline. Oh, you have been very proud, and very high has been your standard of manly worth, Miss Claire Keith! So high that the man who has occupied it might easily slip from that pedestal to--Haman's gallows!"

At this point in her tirade, something suspiciously like a sob arose in her throat, and checked her utterance. But it did not retard her activity, and in a much shorter time than she usually spent upon an evening toilet, Miss Keith stood, accoutered and defiantly calm, at Madeline's door.

CHAPTER XIX.

A DUAL RENUNCIATION.

Madeline Payne had lingered over her toilet, pondering the incomprehensible manner of Claire Keith. She now stood before her mirror, brush in hand, thinking.

"Not ready yet?"

If Madeline could believe her eyes, Claire was actually smiling!

"I thought you would be waiting for me," continued Claire, composedly, pulling a big chair forward, and sitting down where she could look full in Madeline's face. "But it is just as well; there is something that I want to say, before we go down. Why don't you go on with your hair?"

Madeline's hand, brush and all, had dropped to her side, and she was silently staring at her friend. Without a word she resumed her employment, looking more at Claire than at her own reflected image.

"You guessed rightly, when you accused me of having seen Mr. Percy to-day," pursued Claire.

"Accused, Claire?"

"Well, informed, then. I did see him. He wrote me a letter; it was posted at Bellair; you see," smiling bitterly; "that I have no reason for doubting anything you have told me."

A new light broke over Madeline's face. "Do you doubt?" she asked, quickly.

"Not one word!"

"Oh!" drawing a breath of relief. "You were so composed I thought--"

"That I was hoping to disprove your statements? Not at all. And why should I not be composed? Do you think my heart could break for such a man?"

"Hearts don't break so easily," said Madeline, gloomily, "but they ache sometimes."

"Do they?" placing her hand over her heart and smiling faintly. "Well, mine don't ache either, yet; but it burns."

Madeline stayed her brush again. "No," she murmured, "it don't ache _yet_."

Claire made a gesture of impatience. "Oh, I know what you mean, Madeline! By and by my heart will ache, of course--I know that, having discovered, quite recently, that I am human. One can't feel outraged and angry always, and sometimes, I suppose, my day-dreams will come back and haunt me. Well, that is a part of the price we have to pay for intruding into dreamland when we are not asleep. But this is not what I began to say. Edward Percy met me to-day, and this is what he told me: He said he was going away, upon some geological expedition, and would most likely be gone a year. He wanted me to promise to hold myself free until he could return and claim me. He would exact no other promise now, only pledging himself. At the end of a year, all obstacles to our open engagement would be removed. I, of course, supposed, then, that the 'obstacles' referred to, were business and financial ones. Don't think, Madeline, that we have been in the habit of meeting clandestinely. He visited me openly in Baltimore, but not often enough to excite remark; and we frequently met at other places, as he went in the best society there."

Claire paused, but Madeline went on with her toilet in grave silence.

"Madeline, darling, I can't thank you enough for opening my eyes before it was too late, while it was no worse--and I can't explain my feelings. I despise him, and I despise myself for being thus duped. It is my pride that is suffering now but, of course, I know that, despise the man as I may, my heart will be heavier and my life darker, because of what I believed him to be. Now let us go to Olive."

Madeline Payne threw her arms impulsively about her friend and murmured, brokenly:--"Claire, Claire! you are braver than I, and far, far more worthy. You have a right to be happy, and you shall be."

And in that moment the girl renounced a resolve she had taken, and a hope she had cherished.

As they descended the stairs together Claire fancied that she looked paler, and a thought sadder than before.

They found Olive and dinner waiting. As they took their places about the luxury-laden board, three lovelier women or three sadder hearts could not have been found in a day's journey.

Of the three, Claire Keith was the calmest, the most self-possessed.

All that was to be related by Madeline, all that Olive was waiting in anxious expectation to hear, she knew already. The best and the worst had been revealed to her; her own course was clear before her. So she ate her dinner with composure, and bore a large share in the table talk that, but for her, would have been rather vague and spasmodic.

Dinner was an ordeal for Olive, at least, on that day, for her mind was filled with thoughts of Philip, and wonderment as to how the picture of the man who had been his ruin came into the possession of Madeline, who was making herself more and more of a mystery.

Madeline, too, was restless. She wished the revelation were made and done with. She wondered if she could control the future so far as Olive was concerned, for she had made her plans, and did not propose to let the work be taken out of her hands.

When Madeline had related to Olive the events that had been transpiring at Oakley, she had narrated faithfully the scenes between Cora and Percy, but she had withheld the name of the latter, a fact which was not even noticed by Olive, who had not been especially interested in this last actor upon the scene.

Now, when dinner was over, and they had grouped themselves about the grate, its ruddy glow illuminating the twilight that was fast giving place to evening shadows, Madeline retold the story of Percy's first interview with Cora on his arrival, and his second, in the summer-house, the overhearing of which had caused that long absence from Miss Arthur's dressing-room, which necessitated her ingenious and highly improbable explanation to the aggrieved spinster, with which the reader is already acquainted.

During this recital the face of Olive Girard was a study. It changed from curiosity to wonder; from wonder to a dawning hopefulness of finding in all this a possible clue, that might help her husband to his freedom. Then despair took the place of hope, as the clue seemed to elude her grasp. At the end, astonishment and incredulity fairly took away her breath. She sank back in her chair without uttering a word.

Madeline waited for comments, but Claire was the first to speak.

During the recital she had been able to think, and to some purpose. As the disjointed fragments were joined together by Madeline, Claire was drawing shrewd and close inferences. Now she lifted her head and asked:

"Madeline, have you formed any sort of a theory, as to how all this might affect Olive and Philip?"

Madeline looked up in surprise at the question, and answered it by asking another: "Have you?"

"Yes, but I think Olive would rather hear yours; and mine is, as yet, but half formed."

Olive had regained a measure of her composure, and now she sat erect, and said, eagerly:

"Madeline, I have been too much surprised and shocked to think clearly. Think for me, child, and for mercy's sake, tell me at once all that you suspect."

"I suspect much," replied the girl, gravely; "but what we want is _proof_. First we want to find out who is the party who accompanied Madame Cora, or Alice, as Percy called her, to Europe, for to Europe she went. Did she know Lucian Davlin ten years ago? Did they go together to Europe?"

"You want to know, first of all," said Claire, interrupting her, "when the intimacy of those two did begin. The woman may not have known him ten years ago. It would be easier to find out if they have been allies during the past five years."

Madeline turned a look of surprised admiration upon the speaker as she replied:

"You are right, Claire, and keener than I. Yet, my theory is, that they were friends before the woman fled from her cottage in the suburbs. I think the stealing of the marriage certificate has a strong savor of a man's thoughtful cunning. The woman could not have been so deep a schemer in those days. Now, Olive, let us suppose that these two were plotting in unison. Edward Percy's first wife dies, and no one the wiser about the marriage. Then he inherits his uncle's wealth.

If Edward Percy were to die then, the woman, Cora, could come forward as his widow, display the proofs of their marriage, and inherit his fortune. He seems to have no living relatives, but, even should other heirs appear, she would claim her widow's portion."

"Good heavens!" gasped Olive.