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awaited Mme. Joliffe in the small office, but a tall dark-haired gentleman wearing a drab benjamin over his tightly fitting coat of superfine and yellow buckskins. In his hand he held a curly-brimmed beaver hat. Jessabelle could only be grateful that his back was turned. So great was the shock attendant upon this unexpected meeting that she experienced difficulty drawing breath.
    “Vidal,” she said, when the pressure in her chest eased a little bit, aware that he must know she was there. Perhaps he already regretted the impulse that had resulted in this confrontation, the first since their divorce. If so, Jess was glad of it. In return for her own perpetual discomfort, a few moments’ embarrassment was a great deal less than Lord Pennymount deserved.
    She had misjudged him, as became apparent the instant he turned around. No trace of embarrassment lightened those saturnine features, nor probably ever had. His dark eyes fixed on Jess. Curious, she wondered what he would say.
    She had not long to wait. “Jade!” announced Lord Pennymount, and dropped his curly-brimmed beaver on the desk. He then leaned himself against that same desk, arms folded across his chest.
    “Brute!” responded Jessabelle, none too cordially. “Now that we have dispensed with the amenities, Vidal, let us hasten to the point. Why are you here?”
    Lord Pennymount was not an obliging gentleman, especially as regarded his ex-wife. No sooner did she indicate a wish to cut short this interview than he formed the opposite intent. Therefore he subjected her to a keen scrutiny, and was very gratified to observe her flushed cheeks. It was not the act of a gentleman to savor a lady’s discomfort, he knew, nor was it fair of him to have so deliberately set her at a disadvantage. Despite his customary harsh temper, Vidal was not usually unfair—except as regarded his ex-wife.
    Awareness of this failing in himself did not put Vidal in any especial charity with Jessabelle. “You are looking a positive dowd!” he remarked. “I recall that rig. You would do better to buy yourself some new clothes with the allowance I make you, instead of frittering it all away across the board of green cloth.”
    Jessabelle did not know whether to grow more incensed over Vidal’s slur upon her raiment—an untrained long-sleeved walking dress with narrow tucks at the hem, fur-trimmed and belted spencer of lead-colored silk, chip straw bonnet, jean half-boots, gray stockings, and kid gloves; which even if he did recall it, was still these many years later the finest thing she owned—or his insinuations of fecklessness. Determined to be every bit as perverse as he, Jessabelle refrained from explaining that the nearest she came to a gaming table was when she attempted to persuade some luckless gambler not to spill his blood and brains thereupon. Let Vidal think the worst! He was obviously determined to do so, no matter what she said. Lest she succumb to the impulse to spill his blood and brains across the wooden desk, Jess retreated to the far corner of the little room.
    “You of all people should know better!” remarked Lord Pennymount, rendered almost benign by the wholly erroneous notion that he’d put his opponent to flight. “You’ve already blotted your copybook, my girl. Now it seems you are determined to make a byword of yourself. I can’t let you do that that. We begin to understand one another, I think.”
    Certainly Jessabelle understood. If her copybook was blotted, it was Vidal who had overturned her inkwell; and she had not without his assistance made herself a byword. Now, as if his past sins were not sufficient to damn him to eternal perdition, he dared ring a regular peal over her again, as if they still were wed.
    “I confess it pleases me beyond measure that you have proven so reasonable!” remarked Lord Pennymount, farther deceived by his companion’s silence. “I will also confess that I had not expected it of you. I thought you would take a