"And Bob—does he know that—that you care for some one else?" "He never asked me." "But don’t you think you should have told him?" "That’s not so very easy when—" "But there was some sort of understanding between you and Hubert, wasn’t there?" Jennie’s only answer to this was to clasp her hands and say, "Oh, Mrs. Collingham, how do people get divorces?" This being more than Junia had hoped for, she tried to use the opening to the best of her ability. "They—they do something that—that makes the other person want to be free." Trying to explain this further, she ran the risk of citing a case perhaps too close to the point. "For instance, if my husband wanted to be free, he’d do something that would make me willing to divorce him." "And would you?" "You see, I’m taking the case of _his_ wanting to be free. In that situation, _he’s_ the one who would do the thing. If I wanted to be free, I suppose—I suppose I should do it." "So that if I wanted to be free, it would be up to me to do the thing rather than up to Bob." A moral issue being here at stake, Junia was obliged, in the expressive American phrase, "to sidestep," though she supposed that the suggestion in the air was of no more than Jennie had done already. As an artist’s model, it would be part of her professional occupation. "I’m not giving you advice, my dear; I’m only trying to answer your question. I’m so sorry for you that I’d do anything I could to help you unravel the tangle." "Then you think there are ways of unraveling it?" "Oh, certainly, if you were willing to—" "To what, Mrs. Collingham. There’s almost nothing I wouldn’t do—to get us all out—when you’ve been so kind to me." Having a conscience of her own, Junia continued to "sidestep." "My dear, I can’t tell you what to do. I’m not sure that I know—very well. You see, it’s your trouble, and you must get out of it. I’ll help you. I _will_ do that. In every way I can I’ll make it easy for you. But I couldn’t advise—or—or put anything in your way that might be considered as—as temptation." But conscientious scruples were not in Jennie’s line. When eager to reach a point, she went to it straight. "If Bob came back from South America and found I was living with Hubert, wouldn’t he have to divorce me then?" Junia rose in the agitation of one unused to plain talk, and shocked by it. "Jennie—your name _is_ Jennie, isn’t it?—I must go and speak to Mr. Collingham. You’ll stay here—won’t you?—till I come back. I may have something then rather important to say." The girl sat still, looking up adoringly. "Are you going to tell him?" "No; I think not. But there’s something I want to ask him. I don’t think that either you or I had better say anything to anyone. What do you think?" Jennie shook her head. "I don’t want to. I wish nobody would ever have to know."