Too rich in her new position of the woman beloved by Peter to quarrel with Martin in the old unhappy fashion, Cherry laid an appealing hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry to meet you with this sort of thing,” she said, simply, “I blame myself now for not writing you just how I’ve come to feel about it!  But I just want it said before we meet Alix—­”

“Have what said?” he asked, surlily.

“Have it understood,” she pursued, patiently, “that we must make some arrangement for the future—­things can’t be as they were!”

“You’ve had it all your way ever since we were married,” he began.  “Now you blame me—­”

“I don’t blame you, Martin!”

“Well, what do you want a divorce for, then?”

“I don’t even say anything about a divorce,” Cherry said, fighting for time only.  “But I can’t go back!” she added, with a sudden force and conviction that reached him at last.

“Why can’t you?”

“Because you don’t love me, Martin, and—­you know it!—­I don’t love you!”

“Well, but you can’t expect the way we felt when we got married to last forever,” he said, clumsily.  “Do you suppose other men and women talk this way when the—­the novelty has worn off?”

“I don’t know how they talk.  I only know how I feel!” Cherry said, chilled by the old generalization.

Martin, who had stretched his legs to their length, crossed them at the ankles, and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, staring at the racing blue water with sombre eyes.

“What do you want?” he asked, heavily.  “I want to live my own life!” Cherry answered, after a silence during which her tortured spirit seemed to coin the hackneyed phrase.

“That stuff!” Martin sneered, under his breath.  “Well, all right, I don’t care, get your divorce!” he agreed, carelessly.  “But I’ll have something to say about that, too,” he warned her.  “You can drag the whole thing up before the courts if you want to—­only remember, if you don’t like it much, you did it.  It never occurred to me even to think of such a thing!  I’ve done my share in this business; you never asked me for anything I could give you that you didn’t get; you’ve never been tied down to housework like other women; you’re not raising a family of kids—­go ahead, tell every shop-girl in San Francisco all about it, in the papers, and see how much sympathy you get!”

“Oh, you beast!” Cherry said, between her teeth, furious tears in her eyes.  The water swam in a blur of blue before her as they rose to go downstairs at Sausalito.  The boat had made the slip, and the few passengers, at this quiet noontime, were drifting off.

Martin glanced at her with impatience.  Her tears never failed to anger him.

“Don’t cry, for God’s sake!” he said, nervously glancing about for possible onlookers.  “What do you want me to do?  For the Lord’s sake don’t make a scene until you and I have a chance to talk this over quietly—­”