"
"Why was it necessary that he should be told?"
"I think it was due to him,--from certain circumstances."
"I wonder whether there was any truth in what everybody was saying
about their fighting a duel?" asked Mr. Kennedy. His wife made no
answer, and then he continued--"You told me of your own knowledge
that it was untrue."
"Not of my own knowledge, Robert."
"Yes;--of your own knowledge." Then Mr. Kennedy walked away, and was
certain that his wife had deceived him about the duel. There had
been a duel, and she had known it; and yet she had told him that the
report was a ridiculous fabrication. He never forgot anything. He
remembered at this moment the words of the falsehood, and the look
of her face as she told it. He had believed her implicitly, but he
would never believe her again. He was one of those men who, in spite
of their experience of the world, of their experience of their own
lives, imagine that lips that have once lied can never tell the
truth.
Lady Laura's letter to Phineas was as follows:
Loughlinter, December 28th, 186--.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
Violet Effingham is here, and Oswald has just left us.
It is possible that you may see him as he passes through
London. But, at any rate, I think it best to let you know
immediately that she has accepted him,--at last.
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