Peter Erwin glanced at her, but she was too absorbed then to see the thing in his eyes. He made no comment.
"We haven't the same tastes, nor—nor the same way of looking at things —the same views about making money—for instance. We became absolute strangers. What more is there to say?" she added, a little defiantly.
"Your husband committed no—flagrant offence against you?" he inquired.
"That would have made him human, at least," she cried. "It would have proved that he could feel—something. No, all he cares for in the world is to make money, and he doesn't care how he makes it. No woman with an atom of soul can live with a man like that."
If Peter Erwin deemed this statement a trifle revolutionary, he did not say so.
"So you just—left him," he said.
"Yes," said Honora. "He didn't care. He was rather relieved than otherwise. If I had lived with him till I died, I couldn't have made him happy."
"You tried, and failed," said Peter.
She flushed.
"I couldn't have made him happier," she declared, correcting herself. "He has no conception of what real happiness is. He thinks he is happy,-he doesn't need me. He'll be much more—contented without me. I have nothing against him. I was to blame for marrying him, I know. But I have only one life to live, and I can't throw it away, Peter, I can't. And I can't believe that a woman and a man were intended to live together without love. It is too horrible. Surely that isn't your idea of marriage!"