“Her full name—” said Eldridge.
“Her name is Cordelia Rose—Barstow,” said the man.
Eldridge wrote it efficiently. “Do you name any one as co-respondent?”
“I name—his name is—” The man gulped and his puffy face was grim. “John E. Tower is his name,” he said slowly.
Eldridge filled in the paper before him and laid a blotter across it. “That is sufficient. I will file the application to-morrow. There will be no trouble. She will not contest it—?”
The man swallowed a little. “No—She wants—to be free—” He ended the words defiantly, but with a kind of shame.
Eldridge made no reply. He was seeing a quiet figure, with bent head, smiling at something—something that shut him out. He looked across to the man.
The man’s eyes met his. “That’s all you need—is it?” He seemed a little disappointed. “No more to it than this?”
“That’s all,” said Eldridge.
But the man did not get up. “I don’t know how it happened,” he said. “You see, I never guessed—not till two weeks—ten days ago or so.”