Zada was childishly proud of her tact
and of Cheever's appreciation. But afterward, on the way "home"--as
she called what other people called her "lair"--she grew suddenly
and deeply solemn.
"So your wife is with Dyckman again," she said. "It looks to me
like a sketch."
Cheever flushed. He hated her slang and he did not accept her
conclusion, but this time he did not forbid her to mention his wife.
He could hardly do that when her tact had saved him and Charity from
the results of their double indiscretion and the shame of amusing
that roomful of gossips.
Zada misunderstood his silence for approval; so she spoke her
thoughts aloud:
"If that He and She business goes on I suppose you'll have to
divorce the lady."
"Divorce Charity!" Cheever gasped. "Are you dotty?"
That hit Zada pretty hard, but she bore it. She came back by another
door.
"I guess I am--nearly as dotty as she is about Dyckman. First thing
you know she'll be trying to get free herself. What if she asks you
for a divorce?"
"I'd like to see her!"
"You mean you wouldn't give her her freedom?"
"Not in a thousand years."
He was astounded at the sepulchral woe of Zada's groan. "O Lord,
and I thought--oh--you don't love me at all then! You never really
loved me--really! God help me."
Cheever wondered what Zada would smash first. He hoped it would not
be the window of the car. He hoped he could get her safely indoors
before the smashing began.
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