plainly furnished with a writing desk, a deal table, laden
with law books and foolscap papers, a stiff arm-chair, covered with
American leather, three or four coloured engravings of judges in red and
ermine, a photograph of the lawyer himself in wig and gown, an
illuminated certificate of his membership of a legal society, and a
number of lacquered tin boxes, each inscribed with the name of a
client--the largest box bearing the name of "Daniel O'Neill."

My father's advocate received me with his usual bland smile, gave me his
clammy fat hand, put me to sit in the arm-chair, hoped my unexpected
visit did not presage worse news from the Big house, and finally asked
me what he could do.

I told my story over again, omitting my sentimental grievances and
coming quickly, and with less delicacy, to the grosser facts of my
husband's infidelity.

The lawyer listened with his head aside, his eyes looking out on the sea
and his white fingers combing his long brown beard, and before I had
finished I could see that he too, like the Bishop, had determined to see
nothing.

"You may be right," he began. . . .

"I _am_ right!" I answered.

"But even if you _are_, I am bound to tell you that adultery is not
enough of itself as a ground for divorce."

"Not enough?"

"If you were a man it would be, but being a woman you must establish
cruelty as well."

"Cruelty? Isn't it all cruelty?" I asked.

"In the human sense, yes; in the legal sense, no," answered the lawyer.

And then he proceeded to explain to me that in this country, unlike some
others, before a woman could obtain a divorce from her husband she had
to prove that he had not only been unfaithful to her, but that he had
used violence to her, struck her in the face perhaps, threatened her or
endangered her life or health.

"Your husband hasn't done that, has he? No? I thought not. After all
he's a gentleman. Therefore there is only one other ground on which you
could establish a right to divorce, namely desertion, and your husband
is not likely to run away. In fact, he couldn't. It isn't to his
interest. We've seen to all that--_here_," and smiling again, the lawyer
patted the top of the lacquered box that bore my father's name.

I was dumbfounded. Even more degrading than the fetters whereby the
Church bound me to my marriage were the terms on which the law would
release me.

"But assuming that you _could_ obtain a divorce," said the lawyer, "what
good would it d