“I should not desire it,” he replied, coldly.
“Then why should we not keep our secret—as we have kept it—and part now, for ever and ever?”
She turned eager, imploring eyes upon him, yet hard as agates.
“I don’t quite understand,” he said.
“It is not difficult. You have told no one of our marriage?”
“Not a soul.”
“Is it likely that it will ever be made public from the registrar’s office?”
“Practically impossible.”
“Don’t you see, then? the only interested witness, is as faithful as a dog—the other witness and the registrar have forgotten our existence—don’t you see that for all practical purposes the fact of our marriage lies buried in a book in Brighton that no one will ever look at? that, if we give ourselves out as unmarried to the end of our lives no one will be a bit the wiser? We will never see each other again, except accidentally in the streets. We will wipe each other clean out of our lives and start afresh. Isn’t that possible?”
“Yes,” he replied, “it is perfectly feasible.”