"It depends what you mean by right," she answered slowly. "Most people would say it was wrong, but then most people are fools. And none of them could possibly know what I had to go through," she added through her teeth.
"They'll never know that," I said, "because you'll never be able to tell them. As long as you're happy——"
"I'm very happy," she interrupted.
"And you think you'll continue to be?"
"No one can answer that.... I'm happier than I was. You, of course, think that I've behaved criminally. I only feel that we made a mistake. I thought David loved me, and he—didn't. I believe he thought he loved me.... I made every possible allowance for him, I did everything a woman could do to make a success of our life, but you must have seen enough to know that he never gave our marriage a chance. I was ready to put up with everything until he humiliated me in my own house. Then it was time to admit we'd made a mistake and to get out of it as soon as possible." Her parasol was again at work on the hard-baked gravel. "If he'd hated me, if he'd enjoyed hurting me, he couldn't have done better. I never knew what men were capable of before."
In my turn I looked at my watch and held out my hand.
"I have not criticised you, Mrs. O'Rane," I said, "so I prefer not to assist in any criticism of your husband."
Her lips curled into a sneer.
"You haven't criticised me in words," she qualified.
"I am trying to suspend judgement till I know the facts. You will admit that it requires prima facie justification when a young wife leaves a husband who worships her—I will cut out the offending phrase, if you like—leaves her blind husband——"