Mr. Grubb had come this morning to inform Lord Acorn of the separation he had resolved upon; and to submit its terms for his approval. Never, he said, would he live with his wife again. After what had passed recently, and after the years of penance he had endured with her, he could only put her away from him.
"And, egad, it is what I should do myself," thought the earl. But he did not say so. He said just the opposite.
"Must this be, Grubb? Cannot she and you make it up—or something?"
"Never again," was the decisive answer. "Could you, looking at matters impartially, wish me to do it? Though, as her father, perhaps it is too much to expect you to exercise an impartial judgment," considerately added Mr. Grubb.
"I don't excuse her; mind that, Grubb. And I acknowledge—I'll be shot if I can help saying it—that some men would have put her away before this. She has behaved ill to you; no doubt of it; but she is young and light-headed, and will gain sense with time. Can't there be some modification?"
"Not any," spoke Mr. Grubb. "The pain this decision has caused me no one will ever know, but there has not been one moment's wavering in my mind as regards its absolute necessity. Lord Acorn, I think you cannot blame me. Imagine yourself in my place, and then see whether you do."
"I don't, I don't, looking at it from your point of view," said the earl. "I am thinking of Adela, and the blow it will be to her."
"A blow?—to be rid of me? Surely not. It is what she has been wishing for years."
"In talk. Girls will talk—silly minxes! To be put away by you, Grubb, and from her home, is quite another thing."
"She must care for my home as little as she cares for me. She has already taken the initiative, and left it."