m afraid to say, is part of a wider malaise. I fear for the future of our race, Mr Rivers, I may tell you now. And her wedding-night, you say, the start of this most recent bout of insanity? Could that''—he drops his voice meaningfully, and exchanges a glance with the doctor who writes—''be plainer?'' He taps at his lip. ''I saw how she shrank from my touch, when I felt for the pulse at her wrist. I noted, too, that she wears no marriage ring.''
Richard starts into life at the words, and pretends to draw something from his pocket. They say fortune favours villains.
''Here it is,'' he says gravely, holding out the yellow band. ''She put
it from her, with a curse.—For she speaks like a servant now, and thinks nothing of mouthing filthy words. God knows where she learned them!'' He bites at his lip. ''You might imagine the sensations that produced, sir, in my breast.'' He puts his hand to his eyes, and sits heavily upon the bed; then rises, as if in horror. ''This bed!'' he says hoarsely. ''Our marriage-bed, I thought it. To think my wife would rather the room of a servant, a pallet of straw—!'' He shudders. That''s enough, I think. No more. But he is a man in love with his own roguery.
''A wretched case,'' says the doctor. ''But we will work on your wife, you may be sure, to shake her of her unnatural fancy—''
''Unnatural?'' says Richard. He shudders again. His look grows strange. ''Ah, sir,'' he says, ''you don''t know all. There is something else. I had hoped to keep it from you. I feel now, I cannot.''