But she was going to attach a condition to it, and she thought she had every right to do so. He'd have to promise, and mean the promise and stick to it, to quit gambling on credit—or for heavy stakes, whether on credit or not. Gambling was in his blood, and she knew it would be meaningless for her to demand his promise never to gamble again. He might make such a promise—for the sake of getting the money from her—but he wouldn't mean it in the slightest and wouldn't keep it for a single day. She might as well make a clean break with him right now as to demand a promise like that.
Would she be better off in any case to make a clean break? She pushed that thought away. She should give him one more chance before she decided anything like that. And maybe the sweating he was doing right now about that five-hundred-dollar debt had taught him the lesson he needed. She'd see.
She'd give him the money—and the ultimatum. Henceforth his gambling had to be moderate and for cash only, when he could afford it. If he wanted to make two-dollar bets, or even an occasional five- or ten-dollar bet, for cash, that was all right. But no more going in over his head, on credit. Certainly that was a reasonable thing for a wife to expect.
But if he ever got into trouble like this again—well, again she'd borrow five hundred against the policy (that would still leave nine thousand coming, a nice nest egg, when the policy matured in another five years or so) but she wouldn't give it to Ray to pay off gambling debts. She'd use it herself for a trip to Reno. That was just about what such a trip, and a divorce, would cost her. Less than that, of course, if she could find work there during her waiting period, but she wouldn't count on that. A lot of women who go there for divorces must look for work to help out and to occupy their time during the six weeks—she thought it was six weeks—they had to wait for their divorces. The labor market might be glutted.
She hoped he wouldn't be late tonight—but no matter how late he might be, she was going to wait up for him. Morning was a bad time to talk with him, especially about anything serious. He was always irritable and grumpy in the morning, likely to fly off the handle over even the most innocent remark she might make.
She heard footsteps coming up the stairs and thought Good, he's even a little earlier than usual. It was only a few minutes after one; he couldn't have waited even till the bars closed to start home. Maybe that was a good sign.
She got off the sofa and went to the door. But, remembering the phone call and George's warning, she didn't reach for the bolt or the knob until he knocked.
He knocked. Three knocks, a short pause; one knock, a short pause, then two knocks.
She threw back the bolt and opened the door.