"Oh, no; not that I know." She mounted to the seat, and they drove off in a silence which endured for a long time. If Libby had been as vain as he seemed light, he must have found it cruelly unflattering, for it ignored his presence and even his existence. She broke the silence at last with a deep-drawn sigh, as frankly sad as if she had been quite alone, but she returned to consciousness of him in it. "Mr. Libby, you must think it is very strange for me to ask you to drive me to Corbitant without troubling myself to tell you my errand."
"Oh, not at all," said the young man. "I'm glad to be of use on any terms. It is n't often that one gets the chance."
"I am going to see Dr. Mulbridge," she began, and then stopped so long that he perceived she wished him to say something.
He said, "Yes?"
"Yes. I thought this morning that I should give Mrs. Maynard's case up to him. I shouldn't be at all troubled at seeming to give it up under a pressure of opinion, though I should not give it up for that. Of course," she explained, "you don't know that all those women have been saying that I ought to call in Dr. Mulbridge. It's one of those things," she added bitterly, "that make it so pleasant for a woman to try to help women."
He made a little murmur of condolence, and she realized that she had thrown herself on his sympathy, when she thought she had been merely thinking aloud. "What I mean is that he is a man of experience and reputation, and could probably be of more use to her than I, for she would trust him more. But I have known her a long time, and I understand her temperament and her character, --which goes for a good deal in such matters, --and I have concluded not to give up the case. I wish to meet Dr. Mulbridge, however, and ask him to see her in consultation with me.
That is all," she ended rather haughtily, as if she had been dramatizing the fact to Dr. Mulbridge in her own mind.
"I should think that would be the right thing," said Libby limply, with uncalled-for approval; but he left this dangerous ground abruptly. "As you say, character goes for a great deal in these things. I've seen Mrs.
Maynard at the point of death before. As a general rule, she does n't die. If you have known her a long time, you know what I mean. She likes to share her sufferings with her friends. I've seen poor old Maynard"--"Mr. Libby!" Grace broke in. "You may speak of Mr. Maynard as you like, but I cannot allow your disrespectfulness to Mrs. Maynard. It's shocking! You had no right to be their friend if you felt toward them as you seem to have done."
"Why, there was no harm in them. I liked them!" explained the young man.
"People have no right to like those they don't respect!"
Libby looked as if this were rather a new and droll idea. But he seemed not to object to her tutoring him. "Well," he said, "as far as Mrs.
Maynard was concerned, I don't know that I liked her any more than I respected her."
Grace ought to have frowned at this, but she had to check a smile in. order to say gravely, "I know she is disagreeable at times. And she likes to share her sufferings with others, as you say. But her husband was fully entitled to any share of them that he may have borne. If he had been kinder to her, she wouldn't be what and where she is now."
"Kinder to her!" Libby exclaimed. "He's the kindest fellow in the world!
Now, Miss Breen," he said earnestly, "I hope Mrs. Maynard hasn't been talking against her husband to you?"
"Is it possible," demanded Grace, "that you don't know they're separated, and that she's going to take steps for a divorce?"
"A divorce? No! What in the world for?"
"I never talk gossip. I thought of course she had told you"--"She never told me a word! She was ashamed to do it! She knows that I know Maynard was the best husband in the world to her. All she told me was that he was out on his ranch, and she had come on here for her health. It's some ridiculous little thing that no reasonable woman would have dreamt of caring for. It's one of her caprices. It's her own fickleness. She's tired of him,--or thinks she is,and that's all about it. Miss Breen, I beg you won't believe anything against Maynard!"
"I don't understand," faltered Grace, astonished at his fervor; and the light it cast upon her first doubts of him. "Of course, I only know the affair from her report, and I haven't concerned myself in it, except as it affected her health. And I don't wish to misjudge him. And I like your--defending him," she said, though it instantly seemed a patronizing thing to have said. "But I couldn't withhold my sympathy where I believed there had been neglect and systematic unkindness, and finally desertion."
"Oh, I know Mrs. Maynard; I know her kind of talk. I've seen Maynard's neglect and unkindness, and I know just what his desertion would be. If he's left her, it's because she wanted him to leave her; he did it to humor her, to please her. I shall have a talk with Mrs. Maynard when we get back."
"I 'm afraid I can't allow it at present," said Grace, very seriously.
"She is worse to-day. Otherwise I should n't be giving you this trouble."
"Oh, it's no trouble"--"But I'm glad--I'm glad we've had this understanding. I'm very glad. It makes me think worse of myself and better of--others."
Libby gave a laugh. "And you like that? You're easily pleased."
She remained grave. "I ought to be able to tell you what I mean. But it is n't possible--now. Will you let me beg your pardon?" she urged, with impulsive earnestness.
"Why, yes," he answered, smiling.
"And not ask me why?"
"Certainly."
"Thank you. Yes," she added hastily, "she is so much worse that some one of greater experience than I must see her, and I have made up my mind.
