"He might consent to a separation—without scandal, without publicity."
"Why should he do that? While you've a shot in the locker, he'll stick to you."
Mr. Prentice's voice conveyed his sense of despair. She would not be convinced. He got up, sat down again, and vigorously resumed his appeal.
"Can't you see now the force of what I have told you so often? He will not only disgrace you, he will eat you up. It is what he is doing—has almost done. And when you have let him squander your last farthing, he'll desert you—but he won't desert you till then."
But Mrs. Marsden again shook her head, and once more fell back upon the vagueness that baffles argument if it cannot refute it.
"No—dear Mr. Prentice, I feel that I couldn't make any move now. Life is so complicated—there are difficulties on all sides—my hands are tied.... Perhaps I will ask you for your aid—but not now—and not for a divorce."
"But if you wait, no one will be able to aid you. The hour for aid will have passed forever." And Mr. Prentice brought out all his eloquence in vain. "Try to recover your old attitude of mind. Consider the thing as a business woman. Tear away sentiment and feminine fancies. Make this effort of mind—you would have been strong enough to do it a little while ago,—and consider yourself and him as if you were different people. Now—from the business point of view—and no sentiment! He is an undeserving blackguard."
"No. I can't do anything now.... I have considered it as a business woman. I have looked at it from every point of view. Believe me, I must go my own way."
This was the final appeal of Mr. Prentice. He said no more on the subject then, or afterwards. He had shot his bolt.