“Hopeless.  Quite hopeless, Mrs. Linley.”

“Oh, don’t say that!”

“My dear lady, my poor dear lady, I must say it.  The man you are talking of is the last man in the world to be influenced as you suppose.  He is notoriously a lawyer, and nothing but a lawyer.  If you tried to move him to pity you, he would say, ’Madam, I am doing my duty to my client’; and he would ring his bell and have you shown out.  Yes! even if he saw you crushed and crying at his feet.”

Mrs. Presty interfered for the first time.

“In your place, Catherine,” she said, “I would put my foot down on that man and crush him.  Consent to the Divorce, and you may do it.”

Mrs. Linley lay prostrate in her chair.  The excitement which had sustained her thus far seemed to have sunk with the sinking of her last hope.  Pale, exhausted, yielding to hard necessity, she looked up when her mother said, “Consent to the Divorce,” and answered, “I have consented.”

“And trust me,” Mr. Sarrazin said fervently, “to see that Justice is done, and to protect you in the meanwhile.”

Mrs. Presty added her tribute of consolation.

“After all,” she asked, “what is there to terrify you in the prospect of a Divorce?  You won’t hear what people say about it—­for we see no society now.  And, as for the newspapers, keep them out of the house.”

Mrs. Linley answered with a momentary revival of energy

“It is not the fear of exposure that has tortured me,” she said.  “When I was left in the solitude of the night, my heart turned to Kitty; I felt that any sacrifice of myself might be endured for her sake.  It’s the remembrance of my marriage, Mr. Sarrazin, that is the terrible trial to me.  Those whom God has joined together, let no man put asunder.  Is there nothing to terrify me in setting that solemn command at defiance?  I do it—­oh, I do it—­in consenting to the Divorce!  I renounce the vows which I bound myself to respect in the presence of God; I profane the remembrance of eight happy years, hallowed by true love.  Ah, you needn’t remind me of what my husband has done.  I don’t forget how cruelly he has wronged me; I don’t forget that his own act has cast me from him.  But whose act destroys our marriage?  Mine, mine!  Forgive me, mamma; forgive me, my kind friend—­the horror that I have of myself forces its way to my lips.  No more of it!  My child is my one treasure left.  What must I do next?  What must I sign?  What must I sacrifice?  Tell me—­and it shall be done.  I submit!  I submit!”

Delicately and mercifully Mr. Sarrazin answered that sad appeal.

All that his knowledge, experience and resolution could suggest he addressed to Mrs. Presty.  Mrs. Linley could listen or not listen, as her own wishes inclined.  In the one case or in the other, her interests would be equally well served.  The good lawyer kissed her hand.  “Rest, and recover,” he whispered.  And then he turned to her mother—­and became a man of business once more.