"I don't know what you want to get a divorce for at all. I daresay your
wife would take you back if you were to ask her."
"She's no children, and never will have none, and marriage is a poor
look-out without children--all the worry and anxiety for nothing. What do
we marry for but children? There's no other happiness. I've tried
everything else--"
"But I haven't."
"I know all that. I know you've had a damned hard time, Esther. I've had a
good week at Doncaster, and have enough money to buy my partner out; we
shall 'ave the 'ouse to ourselves, and, working together, I don't think
we'll 'ave much difficulty in building it up into a very nice property,
all of which will in time go to the boy. I'm doing pretty well, I told
you, in the betting line, but if you like I'll give it up. I'll never lay
or take the odds again. I can't say more, Esther, can I? Come, say yes,"
he said, reaching his arm towards her.
"Don't touch me," she said surlily, and drew back a step with air of
resolution that made him doubt if he would be able to persuade her.
"Now, Esther----" William did not finish. It seemed useless to argue with
her, and he looked at the great red ash of the tallow candle.
"You are the mother of my boy, so it is different; but to advise me to go
and live with another woman! I shouldn't have thought it of a religious
girl like you."
"Religion! There's very little time for religion in the places I've had to
work in." Then, thinking of Fred, she added that she had returned to
Christ, and hoped He would forgive her. William encouraged her to speak of
herself, remarking that, chapel or no chapel, she seemed just as severe
and particular as ever. "If you won't, I can only say I am sorry; but that
shan't prevent me from paying you as much a week as you think necessary
for Jack's keep and his schooling. I don't want the boy to cost you
anything. I'd like to do a great deal more for the boy, but I can't do
more unless you make him my child."
"And I can only do that by going away to live with you?" The words brought
an instinctive look of desire into her eyes.
"In six months we shall be man and wife.... Say yes."
"I can't... I can't, don't ask me."
"You're afraid to trust me, is that it?"
Esther did not answer.
"I can make that all right: I'll settle £500 on you and the child."
She looked up; the same look was in her eyes, only modified, softened by
some feeling of tenderness which had come into her heart.
He put his arm round her; she was leaning against the table; he was
sitting on the edge.
"You know that I mean to act rightly by you."
"Yes, I think you do."
"Then say yes."
"I can't--it is too late."
"There's another chap?"
She nodded.
"I thought as much. Do you care for him?"
She did not answer.
He drew her closer to him; she did not resist; he could see that she was
weeping. He kissed her on her neck first, and then on her face; and he
continued to ask her if she loved the other chap. At last she signified
that she did not.
"Then say yes." She murmured that she could not. "You can, you can, you
can." He kissed her, all the while reiterating, "You can, you can, you
can," until it became a sort of parrot cry. Several minutes elapsed, and
the candle began to splutter in its socket. She said--
"Let me go; let me light the gas."
As she sought for the matches she caught sight of the clock.
"I did not know it was so late."
"Say yes before I go."
"I can't."
And it was impossible to extort a promise from her. "I'm too tired," she
said, "let me go."