Grant realized that there was no room for squeamishness in this affair. If he did not speak out now, his motives might be woefully misunderstood.
“We parted in wrath and tears,” he said sadly. “Miss Melhuish could not, or did not, appreciate my scruples. She professed to be in love with me. She even went so far as to threaten suicide. I—hardly believed in her sincerity, but thought it advisable to temporize, and asked for a few days’ delay before we came to a final decision. We met again, as I have said, and discussed matters in calmer mood. Ultimately, she professed agreement with my point of view, and we parted, ostensibly to remain good friends, but really to separate for ever.”
“Thank you. That’s better. What was your point of view, Mr. Grant?”
“Surely I have made it clear. I could not regard my wife as purchasable. The proposed compact was, I believe, illegal. But that consideration did not sway me. I had been dreaming, and thought I was roaming in an enchanted garden. I awoke, and found myself in a morass.”
The superintendent nodded again. Singularly enough, Grant’s somewhat high-flown simile appeared to satisfy his craving for light.
“Do you mind telling me—is there another woman?” he demanded, with one of those rapid transitions of topic in which he excelled.
“No,” said Grant.
“You see what I am aiming at. Let us suppose that Miss Melhuish never, in her own mind, abandoned the hope that some day the tangle would straighten itself. Women are constituted that way. If her husband is now dead, and she became free, she might wish to renew the old ties, but, being proud, would want to ascertain first whether or not any other woman had come into your life.”
“I follow perfectly,” said Grant, with some bitterness. “She would be consumed with jealousy because my companion in the garden last night happened to be a charming girl of nineteen.”
“It is possible.”