"I'm afraid not," he answered very kindly—"unless Lorraine permits it. He has offered you a home and to take you back, and you have refused; so that disposes of desertion or non-support. And if you try to convict him of having been—indiscreet—he can set up your own indiscretion as a defense."
"Isn't incompatibility of temper a ground for divorce?" she asked.
"Yes, but it would not apply in your case, if he opposed the suit."
"It all rests with him then," she remarked, with a shrug of denuded shoulders. "Unless he wishes to be free of me, I must stay bound. It doesn't seem quite just—and it's very irksome."
"It is entirely just," he said, "but it is irksome to you—and foolish in him to hold you. However, it is his right and he alone is the judge. The sensible thing would be for him to divorce you on the ground of desertion. It would accomplish the result with a minimum of unpleasantness for you both."
"Then it would be the first time that he ever did the sensible thing, when he could do the reverse," she remarked.
"Aren't you a little bitter?" he smiled.
"Bitter!" she said thoughtfully. "Probably I am. I can't pardon him for his supineness, his silly disregard of my danger. I may be wrong—may be doing him a deep injustice—but I shall never forgive him for letting me sink into Amherst's clutches. A pretty mess I have made of my life so far!" she commented, with a sarcastic little laugh.
He leaned forward and took her hand—and she let him take it.
"Don't, dear!" he entreated, with all the tenderness of the strong man. "It is not such a mess as you think. It will work out for your advantage—it has already done so—you're free of both Lorraine and Amherst. Isn't that something?"