As they rode slowly along in Mr. Ray’s private carriage, Marion could see that his face had grown wonderfully sad. It was not like the face that she had recalled so vividly that night when Dr. Brookes had told her that he loved her.
“You are grieving terribly, Mr. Ray,” she said to him, sweetly. “Do, please, try to look on the bright side a little. There is surely some way of ridding yourself of that woman.”
“Do you believe in divorce?” asked Mr. Ray, suddenly.
“I most certainly do,” was Marion’s prompt answer. “I believe in anything that will undo an error.”
“You are more just and merciful than the world at large,” sighed the young man. “Most people would say, ‘If you married her, stick to her,’ and I would say so, too, if the difference was not quite so glaring.”
Marion’s gray eyes grew tender as she glanced at him shyly. It seemed almost immodest to her that she should be advising him in this matter.
“‘For better or worse’ does not mean that,” she said, very slowly. “When sin and crime come between husband and wife, it is time to separate to avoid contamination. No true man or woman will hold the promise, ‘until death,’ as indissoluble under such conditions. It is contrary to all the laws of human nature.”
Mr. Ray listened eagerly. These were his own thoughts put in words. He was glad, indeed, that she coincided so completely.
“I promised loyally and honestly,” he murmured, after a minute, “but I did not dream that I was marrying a dual character. I wrecked my whole life by one error. Oh, can I ever undo it?”
“I certainly should try,” said Marion, stoutly. “You are too young and too—too noble to be tied to such a woman.”