"There is one limitation," said Janetta. "Get what you can for yourself, if you like—it seems to me a somewhat selfish view—as long as you don't injure anybody else."
"Whom do I injure?" he asked, looking at her defiantly in the face.
"Margaret."
He dropped his eyes, and the defiance went suddenly out of his look and voice.
"Injure her?" he said, in a very low tone. "Surely, you know, I wouldn't do that—to save my life."
Janetta looked at him mutely. The words were a revelation. There was a pause, during which she heard, as in a dream, the sound of children's voices and children's feet along the passages of the house. Julian and Tiny were running riot; but she felt, for the time being, as if she had nothing to do with them: their interests did not touch her: she dwelt in a world apart. Hitherto Wyvis had stood, hat in hand, as if he were ready to go at a moment's notice; but now he changed his attitude. He seated himself determinedly, put down his hat, and looked back at her.
"Well," he said, "I see that I must explain myself if I mean to make my peace with you, Janetta. I am, perhaps, not so bad as you think me. I have not mentioned to Miss Adair that Julian's mother is alive, because I consider myself a free man. Julian's mother, once my wife, has divorced me, and is, I believe, on the point of marrying again. Surely in that case I am free to marry too."
"Divorced you?" Janetta repeated, with dilating eyes.
"Yes, divorced me. She has gone out to America and managed it there. It is easy enough in some of the States to get divorced from an absent wife or husband, as no doubt you know. Incompatibility of temper was the alleged reason. I believe she is going to marry a Chicago man—something in pork."
"And you are legally free?"