"It wasn't because I thought you were going to have a distinguished career."
This penetration disconcerted him, surprised him. And he might have gone on to suspect he would do well to revise his estimate of her, formed in the first months of their married life and never since even questioned, had not her next remark started a fresh train of thought. "So," she said, with her faint smile, "you see you've had no ground for the fear that, no matter how plainly you might show me you wished to be free, I'd hold on to you."
"A woman might have other reasons than mere sordidness for not freeing a man," replied he, on the defensive.
"She might think she had."
"That is cynical," said he, once more puzzled.
"The truth often is—as we both well know," replied she. Then, abruptly, but with no surface trace of effort: "You wish to be free. Well, you are free."
"What do you mean, Neva?" he demanded, ashamed of the exultation that surged up in him, and trying to conceal it.
"Just what I say," was her quiet answer.
After a pause, he asked with gentle consideration of strong for weak that made her wince, "Neva, have you consulted with anyone—with your father or brother?"
"I haven't spoken to them about it. Why should I? Are not our relations a matter between ourselves alone? Who else could understand? Who could advise?"