Pete said, “Because she’s pure, and you haven’t the least idea what that
means.”
All this was before I had taken off my hat or coat. I did not take them
off. I walked out. I went for a long walk, along the docks, and tried to
think.
I decided Pete had told Hilda about my infidelity and that somehow she
had used it. I decided also that I would have left him months earlier,
if he had wanted it; but that I would not leave him now because of any
little girl from home who offered him aphorisms about virtue versus
vice, and did not know what it was all about.
I decided to make a fight for Peter. But I did not know what I was
fighting.
I bought myself some dinner in a Coffee Pot, where a couple of
dock-workers tried to talk to me. I did not realize that they were there
until an hour or so later, when I remembered it.
Hilda was at home when I got there looking pure, and like a cat gorged
on cream, and asking me if I had a pleasant walk. Peter looked
uncomfortable.
How badly I managed it!
I was brief. I said, “Hilda, you are going home tomorrow. It’s not
convenient to have you any more. Pete’s had three weeks of your life,
and some three years of mine.
“You and he seem to have developed a great love for each other. All
right. I won’t keep you apart for ever. You go home. Pete stays here.
If, after six months, during which I’ll try to convince Peter that he’s
quite insane, you and he feel about each other as you do now, I’ll
divorce him with no further protest. If you don’t give me six months,
I’ll never divorce him. Whatever my faults, and I’m not admitting any to
you, he’s condoned them and he cannot divorce me. Take it or leave it.
Good evening.”