“I hope you agree with me,” he began, in businesslike fashion as he noted the prayer books, the untouched 305 breakfast tray, the snapping Pom, which never tolerated his presence without protest. “I am going to see your father, out of courtesy, and explain more in detail how things stand. It won’t interest you so I sha’n’t bore you. I have enough money and securities to cover the loss of any of his money. I shall apply for a position in another city. I am reasonably sure of obtaining it. It seems to me it would be better that I go away.”
“I forgive you, Steve,” she said, sadly, shaking her golden head.
“I presume you will want to do something about a legal separation––and if you do not I shall.”
The prayer books fell to the floor in collision with the slipping Pom but Beatrice did not notice.
“So you do love her!” There was a hint of a snarl in her high-pitched voice. “So you want to marry her after all!”
“I think,” Steve continued, in the same even voice, “that as you are going to tire of being a divorcee playing about, and will want a second husband to help with the ennui that is bound to occur, you had best select your form of a divorce and let me do what I can to aid in the matter. You are very lovely this morning, as you usually are. There is no doubt but what many men far better suited to you than I will try to have you marry them––they will wisely never expect to marry you. That was our great mistake, Beatrice. I thought I was marrying you––but you were really marrying me.”
“So you do love her,” she repeated, paying no heed to what else he said.
“Yes, I do,” Steve said, with sudden honesty. It was a relief to be as brutal and uncomplimentary 306 as possible; it offset the silver-covered prayer books, the breakfast tray, the bejewelled Pom, the whole studied, inane effect of a discontented woman trying to play coquette up to the last moment.
“I have loved her a long time. I could no more have refrained from it than you can refrain from feeling a pique at the fact, though you have nothing but contempt for us both and only a passing interest if the truth were known. I am glad you have persisted in asking me until I told you. I think one of the most promising signs that women will survive is the fact that they are never afraid to ask questions, no matter how delicate the situation. Men keep silence and often bring disaster on their sulky heads as a result.”
“So––and you dare tell me this?”