“Well, Doctor,” said the lady, dropping her voice, and putting on the air of one who spoke in confidence.  “I must say that our friend was not as discreet as she might have been.  Nothing wrong—­that is, criminal—­of course.  But the truth is, she is too fond of admiration, and encourages the attentions of young men a great deal more than is discreet for any married woman.”

“There was an actual rencontre between Mr. Dewey and a person he thought too familiar with his wife?” said I.

“Oh, yes.  Why, it was in the newspapers!”

“How was it made up between the parties?”

“It isn’t made up at all, I believe; There’s been some talk of a duel.”

“A sad affair,” said I.  “How could Mrs. Dewey have been so thoughtless?”

“She isn’t prudent, by any means,” answered this intimate friend.  “I often look at the way she conducts herself at public places, and wonder at her folly.”

“Folly, indeed, if her conduct strikes at the root of domestic happiness.”

The lady shook her head in a quiet, meaning way.

I waited for her to put her thoughts into words, which she did in a few moments after this fashion: 

“There’s not much domestic happiness to spoil, Doctor, so far as I can see.  I don’t think she cares a farthing for her husband; and he seems to have his mind so full of grand business schemes as to have no place left for the image of his wife.  At least, so I read him.”

“How has this matter affected their relation one to the other?”

“I have not seen them together since her return, and therefore cannot speak from actual observation,” she replied.

There was nothing very definite in all this, yet it revealed such an utter abandonment of life’s best hopes—­such a desolation of love’s pleasant land—­such a dark future for one who might have been so nobly blest in a true marriage union, that I turned from the theme with a sad heart.

CHAPTER XX.

Almost daily, while the pleasant fall weather lasted, did I meet the handsome carriage of Mrs. Dewey; but I noticed that she went less through the town, and oftener out into the country.  And I also noticed that she rode alone more frequently than she had been accustomed to do.  Formerly, one fashionable friend or another, who felt it to be an honor to sit in the carriage of Mrs. Dewey, was generally to be seen in her company when she went abroad.  Now, the cases were exceptional.  I also noticed a gathering shade of trouble on her face.

The fact was, opinion had commenced setting against her.  The unhappy affair at Saratoga was not allowed to sleep in the public mind of S——.  It was conned over, magnified, distorted, and added to, until it assumed most discreditable proportions; and ladies who respected themselves began to question whether it was altogether reputable to be known as her intimate friends.  The less scrupulous felt the force of example as set by these, and began receding also.  In a large city, like New York, the defection would only have been partial; for there, one can be included in many fashionable circles, while only a few of them may be penetrated by a defaming rumor.  But in a small town like S——­, the case is different.