Roddick got up from his chair, and began to pace about the room.
"Old man," he cried suddenly, "thank your God you have never had that to fight against—to live chained to a woman you loathe, and to know that a word will give you the love you crave for. And sometimes"—his voice sank to a whisper—"sometimes my little lady, in her innocence and passion, entreats me to take her away somewhere, and end it all. Then, Lomax, it is just hell."
Griff was driven to bay, as we all are when our friends force us to be helpless spectators of their distress.
"Do you remember the advice you once gave me—to cut and run, and snatch happiness while I could? A man, you say, doesn't beat his wings against the cage—but you are doing it," he said, impotently.
Roddick turned and blazed out on him.
"Do you know what that would mean for Janet? Do you know that I'd pawn my beggarly soul to save her little finger an ache?"
"Can't you get a divorce?" said Griff, breaking a long silence.
"No valid excuse, or shouldn't I have jumped at it? A woman may drink one's good name away and attempt one's life, and be faithful for all that. Drink comes under the sickness or health, richer or poorer, clause."
Griff also rose from his chair and fidgeted nervously up and down the floor.
"I'm off, Roddick," he said at last. "God help you, old fellow!"