Later in the day, when she found herself alone in a quiet corner of the
Metropolitan, Mrs. Ascott turned the preposterous proposition over in
her mind. No doubt the Ramsays were as tired of her eternal flopping
from one untenable situation to another as her own people were. In
Springdale she would be safely off their hands ... at least until the
sensation of her divorce had subsided. Would her late husband marry the
nonchalant co-respondent? Would Herbert Faulkner, with whom she had
all but eloped, while Raoul Ascott and the girl were in Egypt.... But
she was not interested in Herbert Faulkner, and she cared not a straw
whether Raoul married or pursued his butterfly career, free from the
stimulating restrictions of domestic life. Was Griff afraid she would
disturb the farcical relations of her late impassioned admirer and the
stern-lipped woman who bore his name and made free with his check-book
to further her aberrant social ambition? Was it for this that she had
been banished to the coal fields of western Illinois--to save Maida
Faulkner the annoyance of a divorce and consequent loss of income?
Whatever the actuating motive, the thing was done. She had acquiesced
without a murmur of protest. This was in keeping with her whole
nondescript life. Nothing had been worth the effort of opposition. She
had never known the stinging contact of human suffering. Oh, to burn
her fingers with the flame of living! But Springdale--a hide-bound
college town, where divorce is reckoned among the cardinal sins....