Trascott raised his palms helplessly, not knowing what to make of the trickery.
"He designed it for my benefit," Mercia said at last, in a measured tone, motioning to her husband. "I have heard everything!"
"Then it probably simplifies matters," the lawyer observed, cooling somewhat. "You will remember that your husband acted for what he thought was the best. The situation is an intolerable complexity. Be congratulated that its fibres are now laid bare! This marriage was a cruel error for both of you, and the error can be rectified to your mutual advantage."
"Not to my own," cried Britton, pained beyond measure. "I cherish the present, but I accept the future at your dictation."
"Whose dictation?" Mercia asked quickly.
"Trascott's and Ainsworth's," her husband answered. "Two of the finest minds in England. They are in the very front rank of their professions, and they have held the scales for many unbalanced lives. Ours have been weighed with wisdom by their hands. Mercia, do you understand their judgment–what their verdict means?"
She clasped her hands in a pitiful gesture, and her composure seemed about to break in a storm of tears, but she quelled the emotion with royal courage.
"I understand," Mercia said in a strained whisper, "but–but I heard you say that you cherished the present!"
Britton's eyes lighted and then grew sad again.
"It is sweet," he declared, "compared with what the future void will be. But the true balance must be adjusted, Mercia. There are maelstroms in our social lives more dangerous than the whirlpools on Thirty Mile. Here we must travel with keenest care; we must guard our strength longer. No men know the routes better than Ainsworth and Trascott, and they have traced out our paths."