Pierce weighed the significance of these words; then he smiled. "Dear, it's all the more reason why we should be married at once. I'd dare him to annoy you then."
"My boy, don't you understand? I can't marry you, being still married to him."
Phillips recoiled; his face whitened. Dismay, reproach, a shocked surprise were in the look he turned upon his companion.
"Still married!" he gasped. "Oh—Hilda!"
She nodded and lowered her eyes. "I supposed you knew—until I got to telling you, and then it was too late."
Pierce rose; his lips now were as colorless as his cheeks. "I'm surprised, hurt," he managed to say. "How should I know? Why, this is wretched—rotten! People will say that I've got in a mess with a married woman. That's what it looks like, too." His voice broke huskily. "How could you do it, when I meant my love to be clean, honorable? How could you let me put myself, and you, in such a position?"
"You see!" The woman continued to avoid his eye. "You haven't grown up.
You haven't the least understanding."
"I understand this much," he cried, hotly, "that you've led me to make something worse than a cad of myself. Look here! There are certain things which no decent fellow goes in for—certain things he despises in other men—and that's one of them." He turned as if to leave, then he halted at the tent door and battled with himself. After a moment, during which the Countess Courteau watched him fixedly, he whirled, crying:
"Well, the damage is done. I love you. I can't go along without you.
Divorce that man. I'll wait."
"I'm not sure I have legal grounds for a divorce. I'm not sure that I care to put the matter to a test—as yet."