"Has he been unkind to her?" she hazarded. She forced a spurious
interest to please him.
"She says not--but then--she doesn't know. It's perhaps as well that
she doesn't. My experience of divorce leads me to see that it's a
dog's game; mountains are made out of molehills to weight the case
one way or another, and he could probably retaliate with a lot of
half-truths, quite unprovable; but the mere mentioning of them in
the courts would leave a stain on her. No, it's perhaps as well that
she doesn't know as much as I do. She just thinks they don't get on
and a patch can settle a thing like that. Lord! The number of people
nowadays who pull along all right, with marriage lines that are
unrecognizable from their original condition because of the patches
here and the patches there--why, they're legion!"
"Are you going to do anything about it?" she asked.
"Me? Oh, I suppose I shall have to be a sort of go-between. She's
my sister, and as far as I can see, she's pretty miserable."
On this account, then, began his first visits to Sloane Street. There,
the actors in this little play went through their parts--well trained,
well rehearsed. There was never a note of the prompter's voice to
reach the ears of Traill from the wings.
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