She said nothing. She thought, Is it up to me?
"Tyl, what can I do now to fix things? Would you like to get a— fake divorce? That might be better for you. Better than to confess all this ridiculous masquerade. What do you think?"
"Can we get a divorce if we're not really married?" she asked thoughtfully.
"Maybe we can fake something."
"Let's not fake any more," she murmured. "Do you think Doctor Wright would just quietly marry us—really, I mean?"
"Tyl—" He half crossed the rug to her, but he stopped.
Her green eyes were wide open and cool. "Then, you see, the divorce could follow."
"I see." He went back to poke at the fire. He ran his fingers through his hair. He took a turn on the hearth rug. Then he looked at her and his brows flew up. "It's a risk," he warned.
"Risk?" she repeated.
"Terrible risk."
She got up on her elbow and looked across at him with a curious intentness, as if she were, indeed, seeing him for the first time. "I don't think so," she said slowly.
He came quickly to her and sat on the edge of her couch. He took her hands. "We'll do that, if it's what you think will be— Actually, it might be the sensible way. There's no risk, Mathilda."
"You don't mind?" she murmured.
He said with a twist of his mouth, "Why, I guess the rest of my life is yours. There's no one else I owe it to."
She shook her head, not satisfied.
His eyes lit, but he hid the light "Well do that, Tyl," he murmured. "Then . . . we'll see."
She nodded. He put his face down on her hands.
The End