"I know," said Anne shortly. "I intend to share the spoils with her, in a
way, even though she can't share the shame with me. She brought us up,
George, and she made us the noble creatures that we are. We owe her
something for that, eh? Oh, I am not as bitter as I appear to be, so don't
look shocked. Mother has her ideals, and she is honest about them. She is
a wonderful woman, a wonderful mother. She did her best for us in every
way possible. I don't blame her for what has happened to me. I blame
myself. She is not half as mean as I am, George, and she isn't one-tenth
as weak-kneed as you. She stood by both of us, and I for one shall stand
by her. So don't you worry about mother, old boy. Worry about the honest
job you are expected to get—and hold."
Later on she said to him: "Some day I shall make it a point to see Lutie.
I will shake hands with her. You see, George dear," she went on
whimsically, "I don't in the least object to divorcees. They are not half
as common as divorces. And as for your contention that if you and Lutie
had a child to draw you together, I can only call your attention to the
fact that there are fewer divorces among people who have no children than
among those who have. The records—or at least the newspapers—prove that to
be a fact. In nine-tenths of the divorce cases you read about, the custody
of children is mentioned. That should prove something, eh? It ought to put
at rest forever the claim that children bind mismated people together.
They don't, and that is all there is about it."
George grinned in his embarrassment. "Well, I'll be off now, Anne. I'll
see Simmy this afternoon, as you suggest, and—" he hesitated, the worried
look coming into his eyes once more—"Oh, I say, Anne, I can't help
repeating what I said about your seeing Braden. Don't—"
"Good-bye, George," she broke in abruptly, a queer smile on her lips.
CHAPTER XVI
Braden Thorpe realised that he would have to pay, one way or another, for
what had happened in the operating room. Either his honour or his skill
would be attacked for the course his knife had taken.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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