“Wait a minute,” Mason interrupted. “That isn’t going to be the attitude you’ll take on the witness stand. Cut out that vicious hatred when you speak of Walter Prescott. Remember, he’s dead.”
“I don’t care whether he’s dead or alive. He was—”
“He was your husband,” Mason interrupted. “You had differences of opinion with him. It had occurred to you for some time that you no longer cared for him; that you’d been tricked into marrying him, but you felt sorry for him. Understand that. Your attitude was one of sympathy and compassion. You realized that, while at times he was intensely disagreeable, it was because of his peculiar nervous temperament.”
“It was because he had a cold heart and a selfish, calculating disposition,” she said.
“And,” Mason went on, heedless of her comment, “it was a great shock to you when you learned he was dead, just as it would be a shock to hear that anyone who had been close to you had passed away. You weren’t overcome by grief because you realized you didn’t love him, but you were shocked, and deeply grieved. Hundreds of thousands of marriages go on the rocks every year, but that doesn’t mean that either or both parties to the divorce action are not ordinary likeable human beings. It simply means that emotions don’t remain static; that love, like any other fire, will burn itself out unless fresh fuel is added, and many people don’t understand the art of adding fresh fuel to romance, once the romance has culminated in marriage.”
She said, “You want me to say that?”
“Words to that effect,” he told her.
“On the witness stand?”
“You probably won’t be asked on the witness stand. But long before you get into court you’ll be interviewed by newspaper men and—”
“I’ve already been interviewed,” she said. “Plenty!”