"Duncan Forbes!" he said at once, for Connie had talked of him. "And how would you shift the blame on to him?"
"They could stay together in some hotel, or she could even stay in his apartment."
"Seems to me a lot of fuss for nothing," he said.
"What else do you suggest?" said Hilda. "If your name appears, you will get no divorce from your wife, who is apparently quite an impossible person to be mixed up with."
"All that!" he said grimly.
There was a long silence.
"We could go right away," he said.
"There is no right away for Connie," said Hilda. "Clifford is too well known."
Again the silence of pure frustration.
"The world is what it is. If you want to live together without being persecuted, you will have to marry. To marry, you both have to be divorced. So how are you both going about it?"
He was silent for a long time.
"How are you going about it for us?" he said.
"We will see if Duncan will consent to figure as co-respondent: then we must get Clifford to divorce Connie: and you must go on with your divorce, and you must both keep apart till you are free."
"Sounds like a lunatic asylum."
"Possibly! And the world would look on you as lunatics: or worse."
"What is worse?"
"Criminals, I suppose."
"Hope I can plunge in the dagger a few more times yet," he said grinning. Then he was silent, and angry.
"Well!" he said at last. "I agree to anything. The world is a raving idiot, and no man can kill it: though I'll do my best. But you're right. We must rescue ourselves as best we can."
He looked in humiliation, anger, weariness and misery at Connie.
"Ma lass!" he said. "The world's goin' to put salt on thy tail."
"Not if we don't let it," she said.
She minded this conniving against the world less than he did.
Duncan, when approached, also insisted on seeing the delinquent gamekeeper, so there was a dinner, this time in his flat: the four of them. Duncan was a rather short, broad, dark-skinned, taciturn
