But what woman would believe that of a man—especially of one upon whom she had put her private brand? She said in the same slow ferocious way: “Some woman has hold of you—is getting ready to make a fool of you.”
I laughed—nervously watching her mind dart from woman to woman of those we knew.
“Ah—you can’t deceive me!” she cried. “Mary Kirkwood! She has been stealing you away from me. And you, a fool like all men where women are concerned, can’t see through her.” Edna laughed wildly. “But she has me to reckon with now. I’ll show her!”
“Mrs. Kirkwood is engaged to Hartley Beechman,” said I.
“A nobody of a novelist,” said Edna. “That’s a mere blind. She’s after you. After my husband—the man I love! We’ll see!”
Again I laughed—and I am sure my counterfeit of indifference was successful. “Have it your way,” said I. “But the fact remains that you and I are done with each other.”
“I shall set aside the divorce,” said she.
“As you please,” replied I, lighting a cigarette and preparing to leave the room. “If you are not content with the terms of settlement you can have more money. If that——”
“Why do I love you?” cried she, all softness and piteous appeal again. “You who are so base that you think only of money! What weakness for me to love you! Yet, God help me, I do—I do! Godfrey——”
“I am going back to London,” said I.