nt forward. "No."

"But people have done so. It would have been a clean sort of divorce."

"You don't understand Justin. Justin would ruin you. If you were to take
Mary away.... He's a queer little man. Everything is in his hands.
Everything always is in the husband's hands in these affairs. If he
chooses. And keeps himself in the right. For an injured husband the law
sanctifies revenge....

"And you see, you've got to take Justin's terms. He's changed. He didn't
at first fully realize. He feels--cheated. We've had to persuade him.
There's a case for Justin, you know. He's had to stand--a lot. I don't
wonder at his going stiff at last. No doubt it's hard for you to see
that. But you have to see it. You've got to go away as he
requires--three years out of England, you've got to promise not to
correspond, not to meet afterwards----"

"It's so extravagant a separation."

"The alternative is--not for you to have Mary, but for you two to be
flung into the ditch together--that's what it comes to, Stratton.
Justin's got his case. He's set like--steel. You're up against the law,
up against social tradition, up against money--any one of those a man
may fight, but not all three. And she's ill, Stratton. You owe her
consideration. You of all people. That's no got-up story; she's truly
ill and broken. She can no longer fly with you and fight with you,
travel in uncomfortable trains, stay in horrible little inns. You don't
understand. The edge is off her pluck, Stratton."

"What do you mean?" I asked, and questioned his face.

"Just exactly what I say."

A gleam of understanding came to me....

"Why can't I see her?" I broke in, with my voice full of misery and
anger. "Why can't I see her? As if seeing her once more could matter so
very greatly now!"

He appeared to weigh something in his mind. "You can't," he said.

"How do I know that she's not being told some story of my abandonment of
her? How do I know she isn't being led to believe I no longer want her
to come to me?"

"She isn't," said Tarvrille, still with that arrested judicial note in
his voice. "You had her letters?" he said.

"Two."

"Yes. Didn't they speak?"

"I want to see her. Damn it, Tarvrille!" I cried with sudden tears in
my smarting eyes. "Let _her_ send me away. This isn't---- Not treating
us like human beings."

"Women," said Tarvrille and looked at his boot toes, "are different from
men. You see, Stratton----"

He paused. "You always str