Well, and if she has done it, she's got a reason for it. Oh, I don't
mean another woman or a trunk-strap, or any of the regular divorce court
stuff. That's absurd, of course. And it may be, really, a fool reason.
But you can bet it didn't look like that to her. She wouldn't have done
it, admitting it's what she's done, unless she felt she had to."
"Oh, yes," said Violet, "I expect she's feeling awfully noble about it,
and I'll admit she was in love with Rodney. And that makes it all the
worse! If she'd fallen in love with some other man and run off with
him--well, that isn't pretty, but it's happened before and people have
got away with it. But this running away on account of some silly idea
that she's picked up from that votes-for-women mother of hers, running
away from a man like Rodney, too, just makes you sick."
Her husband didn't try to answer her, except with a regretful sigh. He
recognized in the stinging contempt of his wife's words, the voice of
their world. If Doris Dane of the sextette were really Rose--and in the
bottom of his heart, despite his valiant pretense, he couldn't manage
more than a feeble doubt of it--she had committed the unforgivable sin.
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