“I don't want a divorce,” she said.
“Then what do you want?” asked Benham with sudden asperity.
“I don't want a divorce,” she repeated. “Why do you, after a long silence, come home like this, abruptly, with no notice?”
“It was the way it took me,” said Benham, after a little interval.
“You have left me for long months.”
“Yes. I was angry. And it was ridiculous to be angry. I thought I wanted to kill you, and now I see you I see that all I want to do is to help you out of this miserable mess—and then get away from you. You two would like to marry. You ought to be married.”
“I would die to make Amanda happy,” said Easton.
“Your business, it seems to me, is to live to make her happy. That you may find more of a strain. Less tragic and more tiresome. I, on the other hand, want neither to die nor live for her.” Amanda moved sharply. “It's extraordinary what amazing vapours a lonely man may get into his head. If you don't want a divorce then I suppose things might go on as they are now.”
“I hate things as they are now,” said Easton. “I hate this falsehood and deception.”
“You would hate the scandal just as much,” said Amanda.