By Heaven,
Blanche! you should have seen her as she stood there brandishing that
dagger aloft and defying me! I never saw anything so transcendently
beautiful!"
Mrs. Walraven's scornful upper lip curled.
"Lady Macbeth--four feet high--eh? 'Give me the daggers!' I always knew
she was a vixen. Your married life is likely to be a happy one, my dear
Guy!"
"Oh!" Dr. Guy aspirated, "if she only were my wife! Blanche, I would
give all I possess on earth to know who that man is!"
"Indeed!" said Mme. Blanche, coolly. "Then I think I can tell you: it
was Hugh Ingelow."
"Blanche!"
"I have no positive knowledge, you see, of the fact," went on the lady,
adjusting her regal robes, "but an inward prescience tells me so.
However, you may remarry her and welcome, Guy. I don't think she will
hardly be tried for bigamy. The happy man, whoever he may be, will
scarcely come forward and prove the previous marriage."
"And she loves this Hugh Ingelow?" the doctor said, moodily.
"She told that old lady so," Mrs. Blanche said, airily. "But, my dear
love-struck cousin, what of that? To love, is one thing; to have, is
another.
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