"And now she's divorcing him at last?"
"The other way about."
I felt sure I could not have heard him correctly.
"The other way about," he repeated deliberately. "Oh, she'd have got rid of him years ago if he'd given her the chance! Wylton was too clever; he knew the divorce law inside out; he was alive to all its little technicalities. He's sailed close to the wind a number of times, but never close enough to be in danger."
"And what's happening now?" I asked.
"She's forced his hand—gone to some trouble to compromise herself. She couldn't divorce him, it was the only way, she's making him divorce her. Rather a burlesque of justice, isn't it? Elsie Wylton, the respondent in an undefended action! The daughter of Jasper Davenant—one of the finest, cleanest, bravest women I know. And the successful petitioner will be Arnold Wylton, who ought to have been thrashed out of half the houses and clubs in London. Who ought to have been cited as a co-respondent half a dozen times over if he hadn't been so clever in covering up his tracks. I wonder if he's got sufficient humour to appreciate the delicate irony of his coming sanctimoniously into court to divorce her. It's a sickening business, we won't discuss it—but it will be the one topic of conversation in a few weeks' time."
We walked in silence for a few yards.
"Was the man any one of note?" I asked. "The co-respondent?"
"Fellow in the Indian Army," Aintree answered. "I don't suppose you know him. It was a bogus case; he just lent his name."
I sniffed incredulously.