I answered no, and tried to tell him what the Bishop had told me about separation, but he interrupted me with a shout.
"Separation? Did he say that? If the Church has no right to divorce you what right has it to separate you? Oh, I see what it will say—hope of reconciliation. But if you were separated from your husband would you ever go back to him? Never in this world. Then what would your separation be? Only divorce under another name."
I was utterly shaken. Perhaps I wanted to believe what Martin was saying; perhaps I did not know enough to answer him, but I could not help it if I thought Martin's clear mind was making dust and ashes of everything that Father Dan and the Bishop had said to me.
"Then what can I do?" I asked.
I thought his face quivered at that question. He got up again, and stood before me for a moment without speaking. Then he said, with an obvious effort—
"If your Church will not allow you to divorce your husband, and if you and I cannot marry without that, then . . ."
"Yes?"
"I didn't mean to propose it . . . God knows I didn't, but when a woman . . . when a woman has been forced into a loveless marriage, and it is crushing the very soul out of her, and the iron law of her Church will not permit her to escape from it, what crime does she commit if she . . ."
"Well?" I asked, though I saw what he was going to say.
"Mary," he said, breathing, hard and fast, "you must come to me."