“I was going to ask you that question,” said Honora.
This time Mr. Wentworth was surprised—genuinely so, and he showed it.
“But, my dear Mrs. Spence,” he protested, “you must remember that—that I know nothing of the case.”
“What are the grounds one can get divorced on?” she asked.
He coloured a little under his tan.
“They are different in different states,” he replied. “I think—perhaps—the best way would be to read you the Massachusetts statutes.”
“No—wait a moment,” she said. “It's very simple, after all, what I have to tell you. I don't love my husband, and he doesn't love me, and it has become torture to live together. I have left him with his knowledge and consent, and he understands that I will get a divorce.”
Mr. Wentworth appeared to be pondering—perhaps not wholly on the legal aspects of the case thus naively presented. Whatever may have been his private comments, they were hidden. He pronounced tentatively, and a little absently, the word “desertion.”
“If the case could possibly be construed as desertion on your husband's part, you could probably get a divorce in three years in Massachusetts.”
“Three years!” cried Honora, appalled. “I could never wait three years!”