"She says her father will stop it. He'll make her apologize."
"Stop what?"
"The divorce. Having your name in it."
"Mother!" Martha cried out, poignantly. And then she recovered herself instantly. "It doesn't matter; he'll have his freedom. He can divorce her, if she won't divorce him. Maybe she won't; it would be just like her. But, look here, mother, why can't Eve let it alone? What's she got against him? She has it in for him. She's got to let this alone."
"She was thinking of you—of us all."
"Why doesn't some one think of him? You never think of him. You never care what happens to him. You're just afraid of people talking!"
"Yes, I'm afraid of it—of people talking—about you."
"But you always understood before. You always said—Oh, I can't make you understand!" she cried, and was silent.
"Martha, if it was any other man, any unmarried man—you were—your name was—connected with, I wouldn't mind. If it was even a—married man—I—could—have any respect for, I wouldn't have cared so much. Not even if it had been the Legion! But I don't want you to—think about this man, even. I don't care how much he's divorced and single! If he was a decent man, he would have come to us about this first—if he had to speak to anybody about it while he's still—bound to his wife. If he was a straightforward man, or honest, he would have asked us!"
"Mother, that's bunk! That's not fair. Whoever asks a girl's people first now? That's Victorian. You didn't even do it yourself, when you were young. You told me you went to Chicago and married dad when your aunt didn't even know where you were! Did dad ever ask your aunt first if he could marry you?"