A flush stole over her small sweet face, making it lovelier than ever. “I never thought of such a thing,” she protested--but too energetically. “Nonsense,” said I. “You’ve dreamed it for years. Be honest with me, Edna.” “How could I dream it?” replied she. “It would take an awful lot of money.” “You have quite a bunch,” said I. “And if we parted, naturally I’d give you more.” Once again--but this time slowly--the searching gaze turned upon me. I bore it well. “You can’t live as I live,” I went on. “I won’t live as you live. You say that means divorce. I don’t think so. Many rich American couples live apart without divorce. I believe usually the reason is the wife has found she couldn’t get a large enough slice of the husband’s fortune, if she divorced him. Still, for whatever reason, they stay married. You don’t like the idea. So I say, if you want to go I’ll give you as much as I gave Margot--in addition to what you already have--and my blessing. I’ve some sentiment about the past, but it is as a past.” “I am--stunned,” said she. And I think her vanity was. “It’s what you want?” rejoined I. “You put me in a hard position, Godfrey. You give me no alternative but to accept.” “I am a hard man,” said I suavely. “You are really willing to let me go?” “You expected to have a difficult time persuading me?” laughed I. She looked at me reproachfully. “Do be serious, Godfrey, about these serious things.” “All right. What do you say, Edna? Yes or no?” “I must have time to think,” replied she. “This is a very solemn moment.” “Why fake?” said I pleasantly. “You have it all thought out.” “It is solemn to _me_, Godfrey.” “There’s nothing solemn about our married life. It’s a farce.” But she was searching for confirmation of her fear of some kind of trap. “You really mean that you wish to free me?” she said. “I mean precisely what I say,” replied I. “Freedom and the cash are yours for the asking. But you must ask, my dear. I’ll not have any more of your favorite comedy of making yourself out a martyr.” “You don’t know how you hurt me,” cried she. “But you always have hurt me--always. I know--” very gently--“that you didn’t mean to, but you haven’t understood.” “I did my best,” said I, with the pleasant smile of which she was so intolerant. “But what can be expected of a plain, coarse materialist of a business man?” “Yet you are generous in many ways,” mused she. “It’s simply that you can’t understand me.” “Perhaps it’s _you_ that don’t understand _me_,” said I. “What do you mean?” inquired she.