"That's a small matter. You can't get a divorce without having first been married. It's the question of marriage that we're up against."
Beatrix was silent for a moment. Her anger had gone. By the unexpected use of that one word "sporting" he had convinced her that she couldn't go back on a creed. Here was a man who had the right to enforce something to which he had lived up so splendidly. She had made her bed and must lie on it.
"May I get up?" she asked quietly.
"Please," he said, and stood back.
She went over to the wall and put her hands on it and looked out over the silent water. Was she beaten at last? Had this man broken her as well as unconsciously won her love? Was she to fail utterly in her reiterated attempt to make him eat the words that had hurt her so? Was she, in fact, quite down from the pedestal upon which every one had placed her? A rush of tears blurred her eyes,—but only for a second. She forced herself under control and looked round to see where Franklin was. He hadn't moved. He was standing where she left him,—not looking very much like a man who had won, she saw, without surprise. He was not that kind of man, she knew.
"I want you," she said.
He went over.
"Will you tell me something?"
"Anything."
She felt the blood rush into her face. "Why was Ida Larpent in your room the other night?"