"Tell me about Mesa City. You know I was out West last year."
"Were you? Sure?" eagerly. "In Colorado?"
"Oh, yes," she said slowly, "but I was living in Nevada."
"Nevada? That was my old stamping ground. I punched for the Bar Circle down there. What part?"
"Reno."
"Oh!"
"I went there for my divorce."
His voice fell a note. "I didn't know that. I'm awfully sorry you were so unfortunate. Won't you tell me about it?"
"There's nothing to tell. Cheyne and I were incompatible—at least that's what the lawyers said. As such things go, I thought we got along beautifully. We weren't in the least incompatible so long as Cheyne went his way and let me go mine. It's so easy for married people to manage, if they only knew how. But Cheyne didn't. He didn't want to be with me himself—and he didn't want any one else to be. So things came to a pretty pass. It actually got so bad that when people wanted either of us to dinner they had to write first to inquire which of us was to stay away. It made a lot of trouble, and the Cheyne family got to be a bore—so we decided to break it up."
"Was he unkind to you—cruel?"