"Harry, why don't you marry Evelyn?"
For a moment he scowled at the fire. Then he spoke in a bitter voice.
"Suppose I wanted to, and she wanted to," he said, "still we couldn't."
"Why not?" I asked innocently, expecting, I think, that his phrase was some sort of a conundrum.
"Why, Archie, my boy," he said, and his scowl faded to a look of weariness and disgust, "it looks as if I might have to marry somebody else."
"Not——?"
He nodded. And presently he said, "It will be best for her—of course."
"But I haven't heard even a rumor. Has he started anything?"
"No. He's a decentish little chap. He's trying to make up his mind whether to divorce her or be divorced himself. It hinges on the children. If he divorces her he'll get them, and if he lets himself be divorced, she will."
"It's big trouble, Harry!"