American fiction -- 20th century; Divorce -- Fiction; Married people -- Fiction; Rich people -- Fiction
"There are certainly various ways if people choose to connive at
divorce. There are certain States where the residence essential to
give the court jurisdiction can be obtained in a pitifully short
time--even as short as three months, and where an agreement to live
apart is allowed, through lack of scrutiny, to pass for genuine
desertion. If Mrs. Waldo and her husband have both been guilty of
infidelity, neither is entitled to a decree of divorce in any court of
justice. But that concerns them, not you. I was merely voicing the
regret which every decent man feels that there shouldn't be a uniform
law in all our States. But here one runs up against the vested rights
of sovereign peoples. It's a far cry from South Carolina, where no
divorce is granted for any cause whatever, to Wisconsin or Colorado,
where desertion for one year is sufficient. Yet, if one had to choose
between the two, there is less injustice and more regard for the
welfare of society in the latter extreme, radical as it is, than in the
former. Whatever happens, the world will never go back to marital
chains and slavery." Turning to the book-case at his elbow, Gordon
selected a law book and opened it. "I don't hanker after divorce
cases, but I'm very glad you have come to me, Paul. I was simply
shocked, at first; let me tell you now how heartily sorry I am for you."
"Thank you, Don. I knew you would be. As to my cousin, Lucille, I
cannot say, positively, that she has taken the final step--actually
sinned. My wife admitted that she had no real knowledge, though she
took the worst for granted. But it is certain that the marriage is at
an end, that she and her husband are hopelessly alienated, and that at
the first opportunity she will marry this young Nicholson. As to
myself, you agree with me, don't you, that a divorce is the only
possible, the only sensible, course to adopt?"
Gordon paused a moment before replying. "The only possible, no; the
only sensible--since you ask me as a friend as well as a client--in my
opinion, yes. It's a point which every man must decide for himself, if
it confronts him. Some people would say to you that you should stick
to your wife, not live with her necessarily, but refuse to break the
bond; that she might repent and return to you. It seems to me, though,
that if my wife had been false to me and my love for her were dead, I
would not allow such a sentiment--and it is only sentiment--to tie me
forever to a woman who was no longer my wife, except in name. Your
life is before you. Why should a vitiated contract be a bar between
you and happiness? You may wish to marry again."
Paul shook his head.
"Naturally you don't think so, now. But why not?"
"As George the Second said, '_j'aurai des maitresses_,'" Paul answered,
a little bitterly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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