“Who? Summerhay?”
“Yes; I used to think I should never be in love, but you knew better.”
Better!
In disconsolate silence, he thought rapidly: 'What's to be done? What can I do? Get her a divorce?'
Perhaps because of the ring in her voice, or the sheer seriousness of the position, he did not feel resentment as when he lost her to Fiorsen. Love! A passion such as had overtaken her mother and himself! And this young man? A decent fellow, a good rider—comprehensible! Ah, if the course had only been clear! He put his hand on her shoulder and said:
“Well, Gyp, we must go for the divorce, then, after all.”
She shook her head.
“It's too late. Let HIM divorce me, if he only will!”
Winton needed all his self-control at that moment. Too late? Already! Sudden recollection that he had not the right to say a word alone kept him silent. Gyp went on:
“I love him, with every bit of me. I don't care what comes—whether it's open or secret. I don't care what anybody thinks.”