“No. She has refused.”
“Why do you insist on that?”
“Is it possible that you do not understand? What else can I do? If she returns to me, it must be with clean hands.”
“You ask a great deal, Mr. Rogers. It seems to me that your chances for happiness would be a great deal better, if you were to let her keep this money.”
“Man—do you realize what you are saying? Isn’t there a greater question at stake than just my happiness? Isn’t it right? Isn’t it her duty? Isn’t it necessary to her own self-respect? I cannot see how she could hesitate for a moment.”
“Then you do not understand women. There are not many of them, situated as she is, who could resist the temptation of thirty thousand dollars a year.”
“Then you defend her, Mr. Brennan. I did not expect it from you. I had hoped you would see her—talk to her—show her what a terrible mistake she is making.”
The lawyer rose, and began to walk up and down in deep thought. All his life, he had been concerned with the one idea, the one duty—that of preserving for his clients every dollar that the law allowed them. Money in a way had become almost sacred to him. Other points of view seemed foolish, quixotic. “I’m a cold-blooded, practical man, Mr. Rogers. Life as I have seen it has not made me sentimental. Lawyers rarely are. Half a million dollars is a large sum of money. It means freedom from all the wretched, grinding cares of existence, that fret out one’s soul. Few things in life make much difference, after all, if one has a comfortable bank-balance. You ask your wife to give up all that this money means, and come back to poverty—comparatively speaking at least. It is a hard question for any woman to decide—a mighty hard question.”
“You are wrong. You judge from the cynical, money-getting standpoint of Broadway. There are bigger and finer and nobler things in the world than money. It’s the right of the thing that counts.”
“Perhaps it is, Mr. Rogers, but most women don’t look at things that way. They are creatures of impulse. Logic is not their strong point. You expect too much of your wife. I have known a great many women—in my time—and my experience is that the best of them have their price.” He noticed Donald’s dissenting gesture, but waved his interruption aside. “Don’t misunderstand me. I do not necessarily mean in a wrong way. It may be a title, or a million, with some—with others the price of a meal, or a lodging for the night. The man who expects too much of women is bound to be disappointed. Let your wife keep this money. With it she will be happy—contented. Without it, she will be miserable. She has tasted the pleasures of wealth—now—and her old life will seem doubly distasteful to her. Don’t be unreasonable. Remember that after all, she is, like most women, a good deal of a child.”