“Not for two or three months yet. Shock must be taken into consideration. . . . South America. Good idea. Interesting country. You would enjoy the trip yourself.”
He kept his eyes on his plate, although the excellent fried chicken of the excellent cook might have been a rump steak.
“I have no intention of going to South America. I expect to live in this house for the rest of my life.”
“Oh—rather a monotonous life, that, for a girl of your age. And rather rash to be so certain of anything, isn’t it?”
“Nothing rash about me,” muttered Gita. “When I make up my mind to do a thing I do it.”
Pelham cast out another line, thankful for the discretion of Topper who remained in the room as little as possible. “I can’t imagine Eustace shut up in an old manor house in winter. New York owns him, body and soul.”
“There will be nothing to keep him out of New York. He’s welcome to stay here as long as he’s an invalid, but when he goes it will be with the understanding he’s seen the last of the manor.”
A brief silence and then Geoffrey stammered: “Do you intend to divorce him?”
“How could I? What excuse?” And then she burst into a peal of laughter. The one plea she could advance was a husband’s wild attempt to enforce his rights.
Her mantle fell from her. “Don’t ask me what I was laughing at! Poor Eustace! If he chooses to divorce me he can do so on the ground of desertion. We could meet in Paris. And of course he will want his freedom in time.”