During Tietjens' late trouble—for four months before Tietjens' wife had left him to go abroad with another man—Macmaster had filled a place that no other man could have filled. For the basis of Christopher Tietjens' emotional existence was a complete taciturnity—at any rate as to his emotions. As Tietjens saw the world, you didn't "talk." Perhaps you didn't even think about how you felt.
And, indeed, his wife's flight had left him almost completely without emotions that he could realise, and he had not spoken more than twenty words at most about the event. Those had been mostly to his father, who, very tall, very largely built, silver-haired and erect, had drifted, as it were, into Macmaster's drawing-room in Gray's Inn, and after five minutes of silence had said:
"You will divorce?"
Christopher had answered:
"No! No one but a blackguard would ever submit a woman to the ordeal of divorce."
Mr. Tietjens had suggested that, and after an interval had asked:
"You will permit her to divorce you?"
He had answered:
"If she wishes it. There's the child to be considered." Mr. Tietjens said:
"You will get her settlement transferred to the child?" Christopher answered: