Ranny dropped his defiance and sank his flushed forehead. "I _have_ kept her out of it." His voice was grave and very low.
"Not if she's there. Taking everything upon her and looking after your children."
"What harm's she doing looking after them?"
"You'll soon know if you take it into a court of law."
"That's what I'm trying to get at. _Are_ you?"
That was what he had meant. It was also what he was afraid of, what he hoped to dissuade his nephew from. Above all things he dreaded the public scandal of divorce.
"Yes," he said. "Is it bad enough for that?"
"It's bad enough for anything. But I don't know what I'm going to do."
"Well, it won't do to have that young woman's name brought forward in the evidence."
"Why, _she_ might" (Randall's face was blank). "Your wife, if she defends the suit. That would be her game, you may be sure."
It would, Randall reflected. That was the very point suggested last night by his inner sanity, the use that might be made of Winny. Winny's innocent presence in his house might ruin his case if it were known. What was worse, far worse, it would ruin Winny. Whatever he did he must keep Winny out of it.
"I haven't said I was going to bring an action."
"Well--and I don't advise you to. Why have the scandal and the publicity when you can avoid it?"
"Why, Ranny," his mother cried, "it would kill your Father."
Ranny scowled. Her cry failed to touch him.
Mr. Randall went on. He felt that he was bringing his nephew round, that he was getting the case into his own hands, the hands that were most competent to deal with it. It was only to be expected that with his experience he could see farther than the young man, his nephew. What Mr. Randall saw beyond the scandal of the Divorce Court was a vision of young Mrs. Ransome, wanton with liberty and plunging deeper, splashing as she had not yet splashed, bespattering them all to the farthest limits of her range. The question for Mr. Randall was how to stop her, how to get her out of it, how to bring her to her sober senses before she had done more damage than she had.
He wondered, had it occurred to Randall that he might take her back?
"Have you any idea," he said, "what made her do it?"
Mr. Randall made a measured, balancing movement of his body while he drummed with his fingers on the table.