His Family by Ernest Poole (popular ebook readers txt) 📕

out question after question to Laura who was walking the floor in a quick, feverish sort of way, with gestures half hysterical, her voice bursting with emotions of mingled fright and rage.

“No, this time it’s divorce!” she declared, at the end of her first outburst, in which she had told in fragments of her husband’s double life. “I’ve stood it long enough! I’m through!”

“You mean you don’t care for him,” Deborah said. She was fighting for time to think it out. “You want a divorce. Very well, Laura dear⁠—but how do you think you are going to get it? The laws are rather strict in this state. They allow but one cause. Have you any proofs?”

“No, I haven’t⁠—but I don’t need any proofs! He wants it as badly as I do! Wait⁠—I’ll give you his very words!” Laura’s face grew white with fury. “ ‘It’s entirely up to you, Sweetie’⁠—the beast!⁠—‘You can have any kind of divorce you like. You can let me bring suit on the quiet or you can try to fight me in court, climb up into the witness chair in front of the reporters and tell them all about yourself!’ ”

“Your husband is to bring suit against you?” Deborah’s voice was loud and harsh. “For God’s sake, Laura, what do you mean?”

“Mean? I mean that he has proofs! He has used a detective, the mean little cur, and he’s treating me like the dirt under his feet! Just as though it were one thing for a man, and another⁠—quite⁠—for a woman! He even had the nerve to be mad, to get on a high horse, call me names! Turn me!⁠—turn me out on the street!” Deborah winced as though from a blow. “Oh, it was funny, funny!” Laura was almost sobbing now.

“Stop, this minute!” Deborah said. “You say that you’ve been doing⁠—what he has?” she demanded.

“Why shouldn’t I? What do you know about it? Are you going to turn against me, too?”

“I am⁠—pretty nearly⁠—”

“Oh, good God!” Laura tossed up her hands and went on with her walking.

“Quiet! Please try to be clear and explain.”

“Explain⁠—to you? How can I? You don’t understand⁠—you know nothing about it⁠—all you know about is schools! You’re simply a nun when it comes to this. I see it now⁠—I didn’t before⁠—I thought you a modern woman⁠—with your mind open to new ideas. But it isn’t, it seems, when it comes to a pinch⁠—it’s shut as tight as Edith’s is⁠—”

“Yes, tight!”

“Thank you very much! Then for the love of Heaven will you kindly leave me alone! I’ll have a talk with father!”

“You will not have a talk with father⁠—”

“I most certainly will⁠—and he’ll understand! He’s a man, at least⁠—and he led a man’s life before he was married!”

“Laura!”

“You can’t see it in him⁠—but I can!”

“You’ll say not a word to him, not one word! He has had enough this year as it is!”

“Has he? Then I’m sorry! If you were any help to me⁠—instead of acting like a nun⁠—”

“Will you please stop talking like a fool?”

“I’m not! I’m speaking the truth and you know it! You know no more about love like mine than a nun of the middle ages! You needn’t tell me about Allan Baird. You think you’re in love with him, don’t you? Well then, I’ll tell you that you’re not⁠—your love is the kind that can wait for years⁠—because it’s cold, it’s cold, it’s cold⁠—it’s all in your mind and your reason! And so I say you’re no help to me now! Here⁠—look at yourself in the glass over there! You’re just plain angry⁠—frightened!”

“Yes⁠—I am⁠—I’m frightened.” While she strove to think clearly, to form some plan, she let her young sister talk rapidly on:

“I know you are! And you can’t be fair! You’re like nearly all American women⁠—married or single, young or old⁠—you’re all of you scared to death about sex⁠—just as your Puritan mothers were! And you leave it alone⁠—you keep it down⁠—you never give it a chance⁠—you’re afraid! But I’m not afraid⁠—and I’m living my life! And let me tell you I’m not alone! There are hundreds and thousands doing the same⁠—right here in New York City tonight! It’s been so abroad for years and years⁠—in Rome and Berlin, in Paris and London⁠—and now, thank God, it has come over here! If our husbands can do it, why can’t we? And we are⁠—we’re starting⁠—it’s come with the war! You think war is hell and nothing else, don’t you⁠—but you’re wrong! It’s not only killing men⁠—it’s killing a lot of hypocrisies too⁠—it’s giving a jolt to marriage! You’ll see what the women will do soon enough⁠—when there aren’t enough men any longer⁠—”

“Suppose you stop this tirade and tell me exactly what you’ve done,” Deborah interrupted. A simple course of action had just flashed into her mind.

“All right, I will. I’m not ashamed. I’ve given you this ‘tirade’ to show you exactly how I feel⁠—that it’s not any question of sin or guilt or any musty old rubbish like that! I know I’m right! I know just what I’m doing!”

“Who’s the man? That Italian?”

“Yes.”

“Where is he?”

“Right here in New York.”

“Does he mean to stand by you?”

“Of course he does.”

“Will he marry you, Laura?”

“Yes, he will⁠—the minute I’m free from my beast of a husband!”

“And your husband will keep his suit quiet, you said, if you agree not to fight him.”

“Yes.”

Deborah rose abruptly.

“Then will you stay right here tonight, and leave this matter to me?” she asked.

“What do you mean to do?”

“See your husband.”

“What for? When?”

“Tonight, if I can. I want to be sure.”

Laura looked for the moment nonplussed.

“And what of my wishes?” she inquired.

“Your wishes,” said Deborah steadily. “You want a divorce, don’t you⁠—so do I. And you want it quiet⁠—and so do I. I want it so hard that I want to make sure.” Deborah’s tone was kinder now, and she came over close to her sister. “Look here, Laura, if I’ve been hard, forgive me⁠—please⁠—and let me help. I’m not so narrow as you think. I’ve been through a