The following day he had lunch with Connie and Hilda, at some discreet place.
"It's a very great pity it's such an ugly situation all round," said Hilda.
"I had a lot o' fun out of it," said he.
"I think you might have avoided putting children into the world until you were both free to marry and have children."
"The Lord blew a bit too soon on the spark," said he.
"I think the Lord had nothing to do with it. Of course, Connie has enough money to keep you both, but the situation is unbearable."
"But then you don't have to bear more than a small corner of it, do you?" said he.
"If you'd been in her own class."
"Or if I'd been in a cage at the Zoo."
There was silence.
"I think," said Hilda, "it will be best if she names quite another man as co-respondent, and you stay out of it altogether."
"But I thought I'd put my foot right in."
"I mean, in the divorce proceeding."
He gazed at her in wonder. Connie had not dared mention the Duncan scheme to him.
"I don't follow," he said.
"We have a friend who would probably agree to be named as co-respondent, so that your name need not appear," said Hilda.
"You mean a man?"
"Of course!"
"But she's got no other?"
He looked in wonder at Connie.
"No, no!" she said hastily. "Only that old friendship, quite simple, no love."
"Then why should the fellow take the blame? If he's had nothing out of you?"
"Some men are chivalrous and don't only count what they get out of a woman," said Hilda.
"One for me, eh? But who's the johnny?"
"A friend whom we've known since we were children in Scotland, an artist."
