"No. But when once your marriage is dissolved, we shall be able to make terms with him. Wipe him out as your husband, and he loses the tremendous hold he has on you. Get rid of your incubus. Think what it would mean to you. He would be gone—you would be alone again; able to pull things together, work up the business, nurse it back to life. On my honour, I think you are capable of restoring your fortunes even at this late day."
But Mrs. Marsden only shook her head, while Mr. Prentice continued to entreat her to act on his advice.
"Suppose you always have to go on paying him half of all you can make by your industry? Never mind. What does it matter? You'll pay it to him at a distance—you'll never have to see him—you will have swept him out of your life. My dear, the years will roll off your back; you'll be able to breathe, to live—you'll feel that you are your own self again."
"No—impossible."
"Yes. Leave it to me. I answer for everything, before and afterwards. I'll manage my fine gentleman—I'll cut his claws so that he'll be a very quiet sort of partner in the years to come. I'll work at it till I drop—but I swear I'll put you on safe ground, if only you'll trust me and let me tackle the job."
And Mr. Prentice, leaning forward in his chair, took her hand and pressed it imploringly.
"You are what you have always been to me, Mr. Prentice,—the best, the kindest of friends." She allowed him to retain her hand for a few moments, and then gently withdrew it. "But it is difficult for me to explain—so that you would understand me."
"I shall understand any explanation."
"I took him for better for worse. And once I promised him that I would hold to him until he set me free." She paused, as if carefully putting her thought into appropriate words. "It may come to it.... Yes, it is what I hope for—that he himself may give me back my freedom."
"But how?"