The Tenth Man. W. Somerset Maugham

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      Etchingham.

      Am I to understand that what your mother tells me is true?

      Catherine.

      [Quietly.] I lived with George as long as I could. I put up with more than any woman I know would have done. But there are some things no one should suffer who has any self-respect.

      Etchingham.

      You’ve never complained before of George’s behaviour.

      Catherine.

      No.

      Etchingham.

      Why have you never said a word to your mother about it? I can’t imagine why you shouldn’t get on with George. I don’t suppose you’ve ever expressed a whim that he hasn’t gratified. Your allowance is princely. Your pearls are the envy of every woman in London.

      Catherine.

      Oh, yes, he’s generous. My pearls have been a splendid advertisement.

      Etchingham.

      [Ignoring the second sentence and pouncing on the admission.] Then what have you got to complain of?

      Catherine.

      I dare say my mother knows what half London is chattering about.

      Etchingham.

      Well, Angela?

      Lady Francis.

      Oh, my dear, I hoped it was idle gossip. A man as much in the public eye as George Winter—the most prominent financier of the moment—is certain to be talked about.

      Etchingham.

      I suppose he’s been flirting with two or three pretty women.

      Lady Francis.

      I understand things are supposed to have gone rather further than that.

      Etchingham.

      That’s the kind of thing a tactful woman must close her eyes to. You’re a woman of the world, Kate. You know what men are. You must extend a certain degree of licence to a man of George Winter’s temperament.

      Catherine.

      You don’t understand, father. I bore my life till I couldn’t bear it any longer. I’m not the sort of woman to make scenes. I held my tongue, I closed my eyes, till something happened which I couldn’t endure. I’ve left him fully decided to divorce him. Nothing that you can say will move me.

      Etchingham.

      But you can’t divorce him. You’ve accused him of nothing but infidelity. You can’t be so ignorant of the law. …

      Catherine.

      [Interrupting.] I’m not at all ignorant of the law. I assure you that he has complied fully with all the conditions which are needful.

      Lady Francis.

      Kate.

      Catherine.

      Please don’t ask me. I feel that my whole soul is foul with. …

      Etchingham.

      Well, of course there are always two sides to every question.

      Catherine.

      Oh, father, you’re not going to tell me that that, too, is usual in polite society, for a man to. … Oh!

      [She gives a gesture and a cry of disgust.

      Lady Francis.

      I wonder if you’d go and read your Times, Frank. I should like to talk to Katie alone.

      Etchingham.

      [With a look from his wife to his daughter.] Eh, very well. Perhaps you can do something with her. Tell her what it means if she persists. I suppose I shall find the Times in the library.

      [He goes out.

      Lady Francis.

      [With a smile.] Your father has such a power of delusion. He never looks at anything but the Daily Mail, but he’s quite convinced that he reads nothing but the Times.

      Catherine.

      [Passionately.] Oh, mother, you’ll stand by me, won’t you? You know what I’ve gone through. If you care for me at all you must have some pity.

      [Lady Francis looks at her coolly. She is quite unmoved by the vehemence of the appeal. She pauses for a moment before answering.

      Lady Francis.

      Why have you chosen this particular moment to leave your husband?

      Catherine.

      There are limits to human endurance.

      Lady Francis.

      You’ve lived a good deal apart. Like civilized people you’ve made the best of a mutual want of sympathy. I should have thought George interfered with you very little. I have an idea that no woman would care to undergo the—inconvenience of proceedings for divorce without a very good reason. You’ve got a peculiarly fastidious taste, Katie. It must be something rather out of the way that induces you to expose your private life to all and sundry.

      Catherine.

      It’s merely a choice of ignominies.

      [Lady Francis pauses an instant, then raps out the question sharply.

      Lady Francis.

      Are you in love?

      Catherine.

      You have no right to ask me that, mother.

      Lady Francis.

      [With a slight smile.] Your indignation is almost an answer in itself, isn’t it? I suppose you want to marry.

      [Catherine does not answer. She takes a step or two impatiently.

      Lady Francis.

      Well?

      Catherine.

      I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.

      Lady Francis.

      In that case, I should have thought you had nothing to conceal.

      Catherine.

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