In the estimation of the judicious, he had made a happy escape, for the
cruelty involved in the lady's methods and the careless flout of the
opinion of the sober, decorous world were not _indicia_ of worthy
traits; but he was of sensitive fibre, and tingled and winced with the
consciousness of the cheap gibe and the finger of scorn. He often said to
himself then, however, as now to the friend of his inmost thought, "I
would not be bound to a woman capable of such treachery for----"
Words failed him, inadequate, though he spoke calmly. His face had
resumed its habitual warm pallor. His clear-cut features, something too
sharply defined for absolute regularity, with the unassertive effect of
his straight auburn hair, his deliberate, contemplative glance, his
reserved, high-bred look, the quiet decorum of his manner, were not
suggestive of the tumult of his inner consciousness, and the
unresponsiveness of his aspect baffled Briscoe. With some inapposite,
impulsive warmth he protested: "But she has had bitter cause for
repentance, Julian.
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