Thorne broke it himself.  He was determined to carry his point, and in order to do so strove to establish ascendency over his wife from the start.

“What’s the meaning of this new move, Ethel?” he demanded, authoritatively.  “I want to understand the matter thoroughly.  Why do you want a divorce?”

Mrs. Thorne turned her face toward him defiantly.

“Because I’m tired of my present life, and I want to change it.  I’m sick of being pointed at, and whispered about, as a deserted wife—­a woman whose husband never comes near her.”

“Whose fault is that?” he retorted sharply; “this separation is none of my doing, and you know it.  Bad as things had become, I was willing to worry along for the sake of respectability and the child; but you wouldn’t have it so.  You insisted on my leaving you—­said the very sight of me made your chains more intolerable.  Had I been a viper, you could scarcely have signified your desire for my absence in more unmeasured terms.”

“I know I desired the separation,” Mrs. Thorne replied calmly, “I desire it still.  My life with you was miserable, and my wish to live apart has only increased in intensity.  You never understood me.”

Thorne might have retorted that the misunderstanding had been mutual, and also that all the wretchedness had not fallen to her share; but he would not stoop to reproaches and vituperation.  It was a natural peculiarity of her shallow nature to demand exhaustive comprehension for quite commonplace emotions.

“It’s useless debating the past, Ethel.  We’ve both been too much to blame to afford the luxury of stone-throwing.  What we must consider now is the future.  Is your mind quite made up?  Are you determined on the divorce?”

“Quite determined.  I’ve given the matter careful consideration, and am convinced that entire separation, legal as well as nominal, is absolutely necessary to my happiness.”

“And your reasons?”

“Haven’t I told you, Nesbit?” using his name, for the first time, in her anger.  “Why do you insist on my repeating the same thing over and over, eternally?  I’m sick of my life, and want to change it.”

“But how?” he persisted.  “Your life will be the same as now, and your position not so assured.  The alimony allowed by law won’t any thing like cover your present expenditures, and you can hardly expect me to be more generous than the law compels.  The divorce can make little difference, save to diminish your income and deprive you of the protection of my name.  You will not care to marry again, and the divorce will be a restricted one.”  Thorne was forcing his adversary’s hand.

“Why will it be restricted?” she demanded, her color and her temper rising.  “It shall not be restricted, or hampered in any way, I tell you, Nesbit Thorne!  Am I to be fettered, and bound, and trammeled by you forever?  I will not be.  The divorce shall give me unlimited power to do what I please with my life.  It shall make me as free as air—­as free as I was before I married you.”