"Yes." It gave Feathers a little shock to hear Chris speak of Marie in those words. He could not remember ever having heard him use them before. It was usually "Marie" or "Marie Celeste." It brought home to him with sharp reality how far removed she was from him, how much she belonged to the man whose name she bore.
Chris looked up, his eyes hot and faintly suspicious.
"Damn it! You know as well as I do that things are all wrong 216 between us," he said roughly. "And now the climax has come and she wants to be free of me—separation, divorce—whatever it is you get when your wife hates you like poison."
Feathers did not move. His ugly face was a little pale, but his eyes betrayed nothing. Chris started up and began pacing the room.
"I'm to blame, I suppose," he said hoarsely. "I ought not to have married her, but it seemed the best thing to do at the time."
A little contemptuous flash crossed his friend's eyes, but he made no comment.
Chris swung round with startling suddenness.
"What would you do if you were me?" he demanded.
"My dear chap! What an impossible question to answer! I know nothing about women—you know that. You should be the best judge as how to settle your own affairs."
Chris crumped his hair agitatedly.