time his wife, whom Lois had never seen, had lived
abroad for the further study of music, an art to which she was
passionately devoted. If there had been any effort to bring a hint of
scandal into the semi-separation, it had been instantly frowned away;
there was nothing for it to feed on. Mrs. Larue lived in Dresden,
under the undoubted chaperonage of an elderly aunt and in the constant
publicity of large musical entertainments and gatherings. She
sometimes played the accompaniments of great singers. Her husband went
over every spring, presumably to be with her, living alone for the
greater part of the year at his large place at Collingwood. Neither
was ever known to speak of the other without the greatest respect,
and questions as to when either had been "heard from" were usual and
in order; it was always tacitly taken for granted that Mrs. Larue's
expatriation was but temporary.

But Lois knew, without needing to be told, that he was a man who had
suffered, and still suffered at times profoundly, from having all the
tenderness of his nature thrown back upon itself, without reference to
that sting of the known comment of other men: "It must be pretty tough
to have your wife go back on you like that." In some mysterious way,
his wife had not needed the richness of the affection that he lavished
on her. If her heart had been warmed by it a little when she married
him, it had soon cooled off; she was glad to get away, and he had
proudly let her go.

Lois smiled up at Justin with sudden coquetry as he mounted the porch
steps, but he only looked at her absently as he said:

"There seems to be a shower coming up. Dosia's hurrying down the road.
I think I'd better take the chairs in now."

XVI

Dosia had come back from the Leverichs' to a household in which her
presence no longer made any difference for either pleasure or
annoyance. She came and went unquestioned, practised interminably, and
spent her evenings usually in her own room, developing a hungry
capacity for sleep, of which she could not seem to have enough--sleep,
where all one's sensibilities were dulled and shame and tragedy
forgotten. She had, however, rather more of the society of the
children than before, owing to their mother's preoccupation. Nothing
could have been more of a drop from her position as princess and
lady-of-love in the Leverich domicile, where she had been the center
of attraction and interest. Everything seemed terribly unnatural here