THE LAST LIGHT of the evening was clear upon his face, and she could read nothing in it. He did not speak, he only stood there before her, holding the little black dog in the crook of his arm. “You can’t divorce Alice!” she said unevenly. “Why not?” So many reasons, all of them tragically valid. She cried, “Richard, it’s impossible!” “Nothing is impossible. I love you. I’ve known it for some time. I’m not going to talk like a boy about it. We both know what it means. Until tonight I was not willing or resigned to losing you, but I had yielded to the situation. Accepted it. But now, if you meant what you said—if that is really why you felt you must leave …” “That is why, Richard.” “Well, then. Things are different. I’m going to divorce Alice.” How easy it would be to say yes! Only a breath, only an instant and the thing was settled. She didn’t dare look into the vista one word, one gesture would open before her. He said, “Listen, Myra. You know about Alice.
