"If you call it that then why did they run away? They could have gratified it quite as well had they remained within the bounds of the conventional."
"It was the conventional which hampered:—they wanted to be unrestrained in its enjoyment. When a man and a woman reach that state they're little better than insane."
"I never took Stephanie to be one of that sort," Burgoyne reflected.
"She wasn't—until Amherst played his usual game—and got caught in his own net. My idea of it is that she wouldn't yield until he proved his devotion by taking her away, and finally she got him so crazy he succumbed."
"I fancy that both of them have regretted it sadly enough long since."
"I'm sure of it. I understand that Amherst has made overtures to his wife looking to a reconciliation; and as he converted almost all his property before he left, she is considering whether a half loaf, with financial ease and Amherst, isn't to be preferred to no loaf, no money, and no Amherst. She's forty, you must remember, and not particularly good looking at that. She's not likely to have another chance, if she divorces him. So I'm betting she will permit him to return—for the children's sake."
"And Stephanie?" asked Burgoyne. "There isn't any child there."
"I don't know!" said Pendleton slowly. "Normally she should be subdued and retiring—keep out of the way for a year or two. But you never can tell. Much depends on Lorraine's attitude.—If he were only half a man! but he isn't—he's a damn nincompoop."
"How could Lorraine go gunning for Amherst when he didn't know where to gun?" asked Burgoyne.
"He at least could have held his peace and shot Amherst on sight. But he didn't even do that—he sniffled, and cried, and bemoaned, and didn't know his own mind for an hour at a time. I've no patience with him."