Those terrible letters that the papers always publish. I never read them myself. In the school in which I was brought up, divorce lay beyond the pale: "Whom God hath joined..."
"And then you will divorce him, won't you?" she asked.
Really, you know, it was almost comic! She was afraid, after plunging herself in dishonour, that I might refuse to divorce Arthur so that she could never marry him.
"If he asks me," I promised. "I am thinking solely of his happiness. He could not live with you unless you were married—I am not now thinking of Right or Wrong; it would cause too great a scandal, and he would have to resign his various public positions. I only hope that the divorce will not compel him to do that, for you will both be entirely dependent on the fees that he earns. We find it hard enough to live on his income as it is, by ceaseless scraping and pinching, denying ourselves little luxuries... I hope you are a good house-keeper? ...
Do you know, as soon as I said it, I realized what an absurd question it was. One look at her, one glance at the room, the least spark of imagination, any guess at what she was and what her life had been! An economical housekeeper indeed! I wish I could describe her room to you: great bowls and vases of the most expensive flowers, boxes of sweets, cigarettes; all the magazines and illustrated papers that one really does think twice about before buying... Clothes, too... I am sure that even my niece Phyllida or Culroyd's wife, who seem to have money to burn, would not have quite such a profusion. Lingerie, gloves, handkerchiefs, the finest silk stockings—and everything thrown about on floor and chairs like so much waste-paper. And I in rags that truly honestly I am ashamed for my maid to see... Her dressing-table alone supported a small fortune—bottles and boxes and looking-glasses and brushes that really made me feel a pauper. The door of her bathroom was open—in that class it is a point of honour never to shut anything or put anything away—, and I saw the most extravagant array of salts and soaps and powders and scents ... like the tiring-room of some great eastern queen. Things I simply couldn't afford; we discontinued bath-salts when the war broke out and one had an excuse for economizing, and we have never resumed them.
"I don't know what your plans are, Mrs. Templedown," I said. "If you return to the stage, everything may be different, but I know my husband's income to a penny. The court will no doubt insist that he makes what provision he can for my son and myself; I should be greatly surprised if he could allow you more than about a thousand a year."
"Well, I suppose it's possible to manage on that," she said.
It was pathetic! Money had no meaning for her! And, so long as other people paid the bills, what else could you expect? It must have required twice that sum to keep that beautiful body of hers in its present embarrassing state of semi-nudity.
"A thousand pounds—at present prices,": I said very distinctly, "for two people—to cover everything—, it's not much, you will find. And, if you have been used to luxury, you will miss it more than a person who has always had to live on a small income. That is your affair, of course, and you mustn't think me brutal if I tell you candidly that I'm considering my husband as much as I can and you not at all. You are young enough to take care of yourself, but he needs a great deal of looking after..."
I paused to let my words sink in. Of course she didn't believe me! Because Arthur had squandered a few hundreds on her, she thought he could produce thousands merely by pressing a bell; and, when she had sucked him dry, she expected Spenworth and Brackenbury to come forward. I had to tell her how things really were... We should all be poorer than we are by a divorce... Though she clearly did not believe me, she was impressed; she was thinking. In that class one doesn't think very much, apparently. I gathered that she could not go back to the stage; she had no position there and could only hope for work in the chorus...