“I don't have to. I know that people come to lawyers only to get out of scrapes or to get into scrapes dishonestly or unwisely. Furthermore, every step that any human being contemplates is a dangerous one and bound to lead to trouble.” “Oh, hush!” said Charity. “Am I supposed to pay you for that sort of advice?” “Being a friend, and a woman, and very rich, you will doubtless never pay me at all. But let me warn you, Charity, that there is nothing in life more dangerous than taking a step in any possible direction--unless it is staying where you are.” “Oh, dear,” sighed Charity, “you're worse than dear Doctor Mosely.” “Ah, you've been to the dear old doctor! And he's refused to help you. When the Church denies a woman her way she comes to the devil. You interest me. It's a divorce, then?” “Yes.” McNiven remembered Jim Dyckman's ancient squiredom to Charity and his recent telephony and he said to himself, “Aha!” But he said to Charity, “Go on.” “Sandy, my husband and I have agreed to disagree.” “Then for Heaven's sake don't tell me about it!” “But I've got to.” “But you mustn't! Say, rather, I have decided to divorce my husband.” “All right. Consider my first break unmade. Peter has asked me--I mean, Peter has said that he will furnish me with the evidence on one condition: that I shall not mention a certain person with whom he has been living. He offers to provide me with any sort of evidence you lawyers care to cook up.” McNiven stared at her and spoke with startling rigor. “Are you trying to involve me in your own crimes?” “Don't be silly. Peter says it is done all the time.” “Not in this office. Do you think I'd risk and deserve disbarment even to oblige a friend?” “You mean you won't help me, then?” Charity sighed, rising with a forlorn sense of friendlessness. McNiven growled: “Sit down! Of course I'll help you, but I don't intend to let you drag me into ruin, and I won't help you get a divorce that would be disallowed at the first peep of light.” “What can I do then? Peter said it could be managed quickly and quietly.” “There are ways and ways, Charity Coe. The great curse of divorce is the awful word 'collusion.' It can be avoided as other curses can with a little attention to the language. Remember the old song, 'It's not so much the thing you say, as the nasty way you say it.' That hound of a husband of yours wants to protect that creature he has been flaunting before the world. So he offers to arrange to be caught in a trap with another woman, and make you a present of the evidence. Isn't that so?” “I believe it is.” “Now the law says that 'any understanding preceding the act of adultery' is collusion; it involves the committing of a crime. It would be appalling for a nice little body like you to connive at such a thing, wouldn't it?” Charity turned pale. “I hadn't realized just what it meant.” “I thought not,” said McNiven.