"That makes it worse," the dentist commented depressingly. "I don't know as you could get free now if you wanted to. You've put your hand to the plough again, my girl, and it's a long furrow." "What do you mean?" "The hospital folks know you're his wife, and they'll expect you to take him in when he gets better." "I suppose so," Mrs. Preston admitted. "But I suppose, anyway, I should take care of him until he can go away." Dr. Leonard threw up his hands in disgust. "Alves, why don't you go straight off and get a divorce--for desertion?" Mrs. Preston opened the heavy lids of her eyes; her face slowly flushed. "That would be the end of it?" she asked, in a low voice. "Of course! I'll give you the money, and testify for you. Go right ahead, now he is laid up, and have it all ready when he gets out." "I couldn't do that," Mrs. Preston answered, the color fading from her face, and the white lids closing over the eyes. "Besides, he may never recover fully. I don't think they expect him to at the hospital." "All the more reason," protested the dentist. "It's mighty hard," he added sympathetically. "Women are mostly children, the better sort, and you feel bad, even when they're in trouble through their own foolishness." "There is no release, no divorce," Mrs. Preston continued. "A thing is done, and it's done. There's no ending it in this life. You can run away, or close your eyes, but you don't escape. He has been--my husband." "That's silly! Now let me tell you what I'll do." The dentist squared himself and raised the little lignum-vitae mallet, which he used to drive home his fillings. "Don't you fool round any more. You can't love that fellow,--think you never did now,--and he's given you no reason to be very nice to him. You just drop him where you are, and start out alone and make the best of it. You can't do that in Chicago now. Get out of Chicago to-morrer. Go east. Take your maiden name; no one is goin' to be hurt by not knowin' you're married. I guess you ain't likely to try it again." He paused for objections, and evidently found one himself. "If you ain't got the money handy, I'll just fix you up. That gas generator I was talking to you about is going to make me mints of money. You can go right away to my sister-in-law in Worcester, Ohio. Guess _he_ won't trouble you much there. What do you say?" She had nothing very cogent to say, but the dentist felt an impalpable obstruction of will, unintelligible and persistent. His enthusiasm grew as he perfected the details of his plan. It was a new kind of scheme, in which he took the artistic delight of the incorrigible promoter. His imagination once enlisted for the plan, he held to it, arguing, counselling, bullying. "If it's the money," he ended, "you needn't bother. I'll just put it on the bill. When I am rich, it won't make no difference, nor when you are, either."