He remembered how old and young had
shunned this young man as though he were plague-stricken; and now
his own wife Dora had done the very same thing under
circumstances that rendered the dishonor greater. He asked
himself, with a cynical smile, what he could expect? He had
married for love of a pretty, child-like face, never giving any
thought to principle, mind, or intellect. The only wonder was
that so wretched and unequal a match had not turned out ten times
worse. His father's warning rang in his ears. How blind, how
foolish he had been!
Every hope of his own life was wrecked, every hope and plan of
his father's disappointed and dead. There seemed to him nothing
left to care for. His wife--oh, he would not think of her! The
name vexed him. He could not stand in Valentine's presence
again, and for the first time he realized what she had been to
him. Home, and consequently England, was closed to him; the
grand mansion he had once believed his had faded from his mind.
Thinking of all these things, Ronald's love for his young wife
seemed changed to dislike. Three days passed before he returned
home; then he was somewhat startled to find her really gone.
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