"
"They are married in name only," said Mrs. Rodney, beginning to sniffle.
She looked up and smiled wanly through her tears. "You know what I
mean. My grammar is terrible when I'm nervous." She pulled at her
handkerchief for a wavering moment. "Do you think I'd better speak to
Edith? We may be able to prevent the divorce."
"Divorce, my dear," gasped Mrs. Odell-Carney incredulously.
At this juncture Mr. Odell-Carney emerged from his shell, so to speak.
He stalked through the window and confronted the two ladies, one of
whom, at least, was vastly dismayed by his sudden appearance.
"Now, see here," he began without preliminary apology, "I won't hear of
a divorce. That's all rubbish--perfect rot, 'pon my soul. Wot's the use?
Hang it all, Mrs. Rodney, wot's the odds, so long as all parties are
contented? We can stand it, by Jove, if they can, don't you know. We
can't regulate the love affairs of the universe. Besides, I'm not going
to stand by and see a friend dragged into a thing of this sort--"
"A friend, Carney," exclaimed his wife.
"Well, it's possible, my dear, that he may be a friend. I know so many
chaps in London who might be doing this sort of thing, don't you know.
Who knows but the chap who's writing her these letters may be one of my
best friends? It doesn't pay to take a chance on it. I won't hear to it.
If Medcroft knows and his wife knows and Miss Fowler knows, why the
deuce should we bother our heads about it? Last night I heard the
Medcroft infant bawling its lungs out--teething, I daresay--but did I go
in and take a hand in straightening out the poor little beggar? Not I.
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