“Oh, no. As I’ve told Jenny, making a mess of things with one man doesn’t necessarily encourage me to try my luck with another. Besides, I’m not fond of Charles—in that way. I shall probably stay at my Club for a bit, and then go abroad.... I don’t know.... All I know is that I’m not going back to Julian.”
“Shall you—can you divorce him?”
“No. He hasn’t been cruel or unfaithful, nor has he deserted me. I’m deserting him. It’s simply that I can’t live with him—he gets on my nerves—I can’t put up with either his love or his jealousy. I couldn’t bear the thought even of having dinner with him tonight ... and yet—” the calm voice suddenly broke—“and yet I married for love....”
Both the brother and sister were silent. Peter saw Gisèle coming up with a porter and the luggage, and went off like a coward to meet them. Jenny remained uneasily with Mary.
“I’m sorry to have had to do this,” continued the elder sister—“it’ll upset the parents, I know. They don’t like Julian, but they’ll like a scandal still less.”
“Do you think he’ll make a row?”
“I’m sure of it. For one thing, he’ll never think for a minute I haven’t left him for someone else—for Charles. He won’t be able to imagine that I’ve left a comfortable home and a rich husband without any counter attraction except my freedom. By the way, I shall be rather badly off—I’ll have only my settlements, and they won’t bring in much.”
“Oh, Mary—do you really think you’re wise?”
“Not wise, perhaps—nor good.” She pulled down her veil. “I feel that a better or a worse woman would have made a neater job of this. The worse would have found an easier way—the better would have stuck to the rough. But I—oh, I’m neither—I’m neither good nor bad. All I know is that I can’t go back to Julian, to put up with his fussing and his love and his suspicion—and, worse still, with my own shame because I don’t love him any more—because I’ve allowed myself to be driven out of love by tricks—by manner—by outside things.”
“—London train—Headcorn, Tonbridge and London train—”