"Can't you guess? It's rather unpleasant for me to have to tell you."
"Reckon it was that man"—somehow Sir Harry's name had become vaguely improper, Joanna felt unable to pronounce it—"then you've made up your mind not to marry him," she finished.
"How can I marry him, seeing I'm somebody else's wife?"
"I'm glad to hear you say such a proper thing. It ain't what you was saying at the start. Then you wanted a divorce and all sorts of foreign notions ... what's made you change round?"
"Well, Arthur wouldn't give me a divorce, for one thing. For another, as I told you in my letter, one often doesn't know people till one's lived with them—besides, he's too old for me."
"He'll never see sixty again."
"He will," said Ellen indignantly—"he was only fifty-five in March."
"That's thirty year more'n you."
"I've told you he's too old for me."
"You might have found out that at the start—he was only six months younger then."