“No, father, our separation is final.”
The old man raised his hand in protest.
“Nonsense, boy, you have an iron will and Ruth a fiery temper, but a more lovable and beautiful spirit was never born than your wife. I was so proud of her when you brought her home! Of all the women in the world, I felt she was The One Woman God had meant for the mother of your children. In every way, mentally and physically, she is your complement and mate. Your differences only make the needed contrast for perfect happiness.”
“But we have drifted hopelessly apart, father,”
“My son, the man and woman whom God hath made one in the beat of a child’s heart cannot get hopelessly apart. It’s a physical and moral impossibility. Do you mean to tell me that if your mother had lived after your birth, and we had bowed together over your cradle, height or depth, things past, present or to come, or any other creature, could have torn us asunder? You must make up this foolish quarrel. You must be patient with her little jealousies. It’s natural she should feel them when you are the centre of so many flattering eyes.”
Gordon saw it was useless to avoid the heart of the difficulty. So with all the earnestness and eloquence he could command he told his father the history of Kate Ransom’s work in the church, the growth of their love, the drifting apart from Ruth, and the final dramatic climax of the day that she gave the money to build the Temple.
The old man with fine courtesy listened attentively, now and then brushing away a tear, and sighing.
“And so, father,” he concluded, “a divorce is the only possible end of it all.”
“And what has Ruth to say?” he asked, pathetically.
“She has accepted the situation, and at my request will bring the suit.”