“I presume it is not broken.”
“No, it is not, thank goodness. It is a tough heart, and a man’s inconstancy and changeableness will never even make a crack in it. For me to love and grieve now,” and she looked at him straight, “a man must be worth loving and grieving for.”
“What is the bargain that you want to make, then?” asked John Temple, impatiently, a moment later.
“It is this: You are a rich man now, and I am your wife, so I ought to be a rich woman also. I have a right, you know, to come here if I choose; to claim you before your new friends; in fact, to make myself generally disagreeable. But I don’t want to do this. I have my own ideas of happiness, and it is not to force my company on an unwilling man. But if you will give me ten thousand pounds I will bring an action of divorce against you; I will show the hair you tore out of my head, and swear to a black bruise or two on my arms, and perhaps a little playful box on my ears. Mind, I am not jesting, though I talk as if I were.”
“And if I refuse your modest request?”
“Oh, well, then I must have a big allowance; and I will talk to everyone of my husband, Mr. John Temple of Woodlea Hall, and I will buy diamonds and have them put down to you; in fact, it will be worse for you than if you give me ten thousand pounds and were done with me. I really advise you to think it over.”
And John Temple actually stood and did think it over.
“Let me have time to consider,” he said, at length.
“Which means you will accept my terms,” cried Kathleen Weir, triumphantly. “I’m so glad. I really feel quite friendly toward you, and we must help each other in this business, you know, and keep our own secrets, and no one will ever be the wiser.”
John Temple made no answer; he was thinking that he would in truth be glad to be free, and yet—