Marian had grown quite white.
“Why, Andy!” she faltered. “I never thought—I thought—I always hoped you were—happy!”
He sprang up and began to pace the room.
“I can’t stand it any longer!” he cried. “I’m at the end of my tether. Oh, this marriage!”
“Is it—me, Andy?” Marian asked rather pitifully.
“No! No! It’s simply marriage—marriage with any one. It’s this base, disgusting monotony, this abominable pettiness, this eternal talk about servants and children and coal-bills and neighbors and card-parties. It stifles me. It sickens me. I can’t live any more unless I’m free!”
“Do you mean that you—want a divorce, Andy?” she asked, with a gallant effort to disguise her terror and distress.
“No,” he answered, “not necessarily. I shouldn’t like to lose you altogether, Marian—unless, of course, you’d like to form another connection. Would you?”
“No—no, Andy, I wouldn’t!”
“I didn’t think so. What I want, Marian, is simply to ignore our marriage. I want to be released from its petty restric[Pg 4]tions and obligations. Will you do that, Marian? Will you absolve me from all these preposterous ‘vows,’ and so on?”