“He would divorce her,” protested Nick harshly.
Jean shook her head.
“I don’t think so. Honestly, I believe he would get undiluted satisfaction out of the fact that, as long as he lived, he could stand between Claire and everything that a normal woman wants—home, and a sheltered life, and the knowledge that no one can ‘say things’ about her. Oh, Nick, Nick! Between you—you and Sir Adrian—you’d make an outcast of Claire, make her life a worse hell with you than it is without you.” She paused, then went on more quietly: “Have you said anything to her about this—told her what you want her to do?”
“No, not yet—not definitely.”
Jean breathed a quick sigh of relief.
“Then don’t! Promise me you won’t, Nick?”
“She might refuse, after all,” he suggested, evading a direct answer.
“Refuse! You know her better than that. If you wanted Claire to make a burnt-offering of herself for your benefit to-morrow, you know she’d do it! And—and”—laughing a little hysterically—“pretend, too, that she enjoyed the process of being grilled! No, Nick, it’s up to you to—to just go on helping to make her life bearable, as you have done for the last two years.”
“It’s asking too much of me, Jean.”
Nick spoke a little thickly. He was up against one of man’s most primitive instincts—the instinct to protect and comfort and cherish the woman he loved.