“Yes? May I ask why?”
“Incompatibility, for one thing,” answered Benton, his eyes roving about the room. Those searching orbs of the lawyer made him nervous, he fretted to himself.
Hammond was silent a moment: then abruptly he asked: “Just how many years have you been married?”
“Almost twenty-two.”
“And it has taken you two people twenty-two years to discover that you are incompatible? You asked me to be fair, Benton—I in return must ask you to be honest with me?”
“But—I don’t——”
“You’re asking for my advice,” Hammond continued sharply. “Why don’t you come out at once and tell me plainly that you have lost your head over another woman?”
“Why—I—” Hugh blushed and stammered uneasily, “I thought to give you the facts as delicately as possible. Your method seems—er—pardon me—almost crude.”
“Come, come, Benton,” Hammond replied impatiently. “I don’t believe in beating about the bush! You can’t change a deed or a statement by attempting to glaze it over with a polish. The fundamental fact remains the same no matter what you do. Just a minute, please,” as Hugh endeavored to interrupt him, “let me tell you that I’ll have a great deal more respect for you if you stop this quibbling and come out with the plain truth!”
“Very well, then. I have fallen in love with another woman, and I want to marry her.”