For some time they discussed the possibilities of divorce, and Mrs. Darling was frankly business-like in regard to the financial side of the affair.
“Of course,” she said, “it is very hard to do business with you, my dear Jim, because you are an honest man. I prefer dealing with crooks. It is so simple, because you always know that at some stage of the game they are going to try to trip you up. But with honest men, you never know what they’ll do next.”
The upshot of their conversation was an understanding that Mrs. Darling should go down next day to Eversfield and win her daughter over to the idea of divorce; and, this being arranged, he rose to go.
“Good-bye,” he said, warmly shaking her hand. “I can’t begin to thank you for your kindness, and generosity of mind.”
“Oh, nonsense!” she laughed. “I’m just a scheming old woman, Jim. As I’ve often told you, I’d sell my soul for an income; and in this case it is obvious that, since you are alive, you hold the family purse-strings. That’s why I am nice to you.”
“I don’t believe it,” he answered.
“Well, anyway,” she said, “I wish you well, dead or alive. Good-bye, my dear. May you be with the rich in this world and with the poor in the world to come.”
Jim arrived back at his hotel in a somewhat happier frame of mind, and went at once to his bedroom, tired after the adventures of the day. When he was in bed, however, he found that sleep had deserted him; and for some time he lay on his back, vainly endeavouring to quell the turbulence of the mob of his thoughts. The figure of Dolly kept presenting itself to his mind, and his inward ears heard her voice continuously railing at him and reproaching him.
Her pretty, silly little face seemed to push in upon his thoughts of Monimé; and suddenly he sat up, scared by the vividness of the impression, and wondering whether it were some sort of portent of coming calamity in regard to the new life for which he hoped so passionately. He switched on the light, and, kicking off the bedclothes, went across to the washstand and poured himself out a dose of whisky from his flask. The radiator was too hot, and the room felt stuffy; but, throwing open the window, a blast of cold air and wet sleet searched him to the skin, and obliged him to shut it again.