"I don't know much about anything, but, thinking as clearly
and as impersonally as it is in me to think, I begin to
believe that divorce, far from deserving the stigma attached
to it, is a step forward in civilisation.
"Perhaps it may be only a temporary substitute for something
better--say for more wholesome and more honest social
conditions where the proposition for mating and the selection
of a mate may lie as freely with your sex as with mine.
"Until then I know of nothing more honest and more sensible
than to undo the wrong that ignorance and inexperience has
accomplished. No woman's moral or spiritual salvation is
dependent upon her wearing the fetters of a marriage
abhorred. Such a stupid sacrifice is unthinkable to modesty
and decency, and is repulsive to common sense. And any god
who is supposed to demand that of humanity is not the true
God, but is as grotesque and false as any African idol or any
deity ever worshipped by Puritan or Pagan or by any orthodox
assassin of free minds since the first murder was perpetrated
on account of creed.
"You are entitled to divorce. I don't know whether I am or
not, having done this thing. Nobody likes to endure unhappy
consequences. I don't. But it was my own doing and I have no
ground for complaint.
"You, however, have. You ought to be free of me. Of course,
I'd be very glad to have my freedom; I shall not lie about
it; but the difference is that you deserve yours and I don't.
But I'll be very grateful if you care to give it to me.
"Don't write any more bitterly than you can help. I don't
believe it really affords you any satisfaction; and it
depresses me more than you could realise. I know only too
well what I have been and wherein I have failed so miserably.
Let me forget it whenever I can, Winifred. And if, for me,
there remains any chance, any outlook, be generous enough to
let me try to take it.
"Your husband,
"C. BAILEY."
The consequences of this letter did not seem to be very fortunate.
There came a letter from her so bitter and menacing that a cleverer
man might have read in it enough of menace between the lines to
forearm him with caution at least.
But Clive merely read it once and destroyed it and tried to forget it.
* * * * *
It was not until some time afterward that, gradually, some instinct in
him awoke suspicion. But for a long while he was not perfectly sure
that he was being followed.