Another Woman's House by Mignon G. Eberhart Read Free Book Online

said, “Yes, I see. You’re right, of course. There’s nothing else for us to do.”
    She thought for an instant that he was going to take her in his arms again; she wanted him to do so with every vein in her body.
    He didn’t. He put his hand rather gently under her arm. They turned together and started along the sandy stretch toward the path through the rocks.
    Dinner would be waiting. It was very nearly dark.
    The sand seemed heavy and cold and clung to her pumps. The water was darker and a little menacing with sudden night. The rocks loomed up white and barren ahead of them. They could not from there see the lights of the house.
    When they reached the path through the rocks Richard’s hand tightened under her arm. He swung her around toward him.
    â€œI’m going to divorce Alice.”

CHAPTER 4
    â€œRICHARD!” THE LAST LIGHT of the evening was clear upon his face, and she could read nothing in it. He did not speak, he only stood there before her, holding the little black dog in the crook of his arm.
    â€œYou can’t divorce Alice!” she said unevenly.
    â€œWhy not?” So many reasons, all of them tragically valid. She cried, “Richard, it’s impossible!”
    â€œNothing is impossible. I love you. I’ve known it for some time. I’m not going to talk like a boy about it. We both know what it means. Until tonight I was not willing or resigned to losing you, but I had yielded to the situation. Accepted it. But now, if you meant what you said—if that is really why you felt you must leave …”
    â€œThat is why, Richard.”
    â€œWell, then. Things are different. I’m going to divorce Alice.”
    How easy it would be to say yes! Only a breath, only an instant and the thing was settled. She didn’t dare look into the vista one word, one gesture would open before her.
    He said, “Listen, Myra. You know about Alice. You know the whole story.”
    Her heart was pounding in her throat. All at once the question of his belief in Alice’s guilt or innocence was terribly important. If he believed her guilty then there was in a quite definite sense a measure of justification for their love, hers and Richard’s. If he believed Alice an innocent and tragically wronged woman, that was different; everything was different. She said, “We read the papers you sent. We may have missed some—the mails were lost occasionally during that time. But I suppose I know what everybody else knows.”
    He waited a moment, his eyes still seeming to search her own. Then he turned to look out again toward the darkening water. “The main facts were in the papers. I was glad, really, that Aunt Cornelia couldn’t come until it was all over. We’ve never talked of it. She never asked me and I didn’t want to talk of it. In a way I’ve always rather felt it was my fault.”
    â€œOh, no, Richard!”
    â€œI mean—well, I was away. Alice was alone. If I’d been there it might not have happened. It was the servants’ night out, too; there were only Barton and his wife and a maid, Francine, in the house. They’d all gone to a movie.”
    His profile was clear and white against the gathering night. He shifted the dog a little, and said, “I got home about midnight and the police were already there. Jack Manders’ body was in the library, just before the fireplace. They’d covered it with a rug but hadn’t taken it away yet. Alice had told them the story of what happened; she was in the dining room, sitting at the table, and somebody had fixed coffee for everybody. She was quite cool and collected and never deviated in any detail from what she told them then. I remember she had on a white dress, a thin, long white dress and there were small streaks of blood, down the front of it. Where she’d knelt beside Jack. To see if she could help him, she said, after she’d heard the