“I'm not afraid of your little friend, and as soon as I get well I'll get him; but I want it to be purely an exercise in the fistic art, and not a public fluttering of family linen. So since you want Jim Dyckman, take him, by all means, and let me bow myself out of the trio.
“I'll give you a nice, quiet little divorce, and do the fair thing in the alimony line, and then after a proper interval you and little Jimmie can toddle over to the parson and then toddle off to hell-and-gone, for all I care. How does that strike you, my dear?”
Charity pondered, and then she said, “And where do you toddle off to?”
“Does that interest you?”
“Anything that concerns your welfare interests me.”
“I see. Well, don't worry about me.”
“There's no hurry, of course?”
“Not on my part,” said Cheever. “But Dyckman must be growing impatient, since he tries to murder me to save the lawyer's fees.”
“Well, if you're in no hurry, Peter, I'm not. I'll think it over for a few months. It's bad weather for divorces now, anyway.”
Cheever's heart churned in his breast. He knew that Zada could not afford to wait. He should have married her long ago, and there was no time to spare now. Charity's indifference frightened him. He did not dream that through the dictagraph Charity had shared with him Zada's annunciation of her approaching motherhood.