How Tara Treloar took the divorce into her own hands.

The Douglas romance. By Douglas Sladen. 1916. P. 357-360

As Gray went into the theatre towards Old Mac’s office, whom should he meet coming down the stairs but his” last leading lady before Mirabel—Tara Treloar.

“Hullo, Tara, what are you doing over here?” he asked.

“A divorce.” Tara could be very laconic.

“A divorce?”

“Yes, I want to marry again, and so does Snooker.”

Snooker (christened Seneca) Claflin was the American Variety Syndicate promoter, who had lured her away from the Babylon to act for his “combine.” He had taken the precaution of marrying her, so that she should not give him the slip, directly she got over there.

This marriage had worn out long ago, because it meant nothing else; but the parties, whose lives were not affected by the tie, had not troubled to dissolve it, until the occasion arose for Snooker to go through the ceremony again for a business purpose.

This in a nutshell was what Tara told Gray when he asked her into his office for a chat.

The irony entered his soul. Here was he, who had been a Galahad since he first became engaged, about to give up his dearest possession and desire in the faint hope of saving Mirabel’s life, and the Douglas succession for another; while Tara, who had made marriage a pawn in a game, was now going to play a fresh marriage as a fresh pawn, for a new lease of profit or pleasure —the latter, she told him.

“I’m going to marry the real thing this time, not a filthy cad like Snooker!”

Snooker’s solitary merit appeared to have been that he was accommodating about everything but business. Now business necessitated a new marriage on his part—in England, and as he could not marry again in England without getting an English divorce, he had offered Tara a considerable sum to go to England and be divorced. It was better that she should be divorced, though there was ample proof for either, because it simplified matters to have the woman, for whom mere infidelity was sufficient cause, divorced.

“Who are you going to marry when you’ve got your divorce?” asked Gray.

“I don’t know,” she said. “There’ll be plenty want to do it when they know that I’m in the market again.”

“In the market again!” Gray shuddered. From this point of view, in a few months he would be in the market again —a target, doubtless, for all the Taras, if they found out that he had been divorced by a musical-comedy actress in his own employ!

Tara, to his surprise, had not degenerated. Her liaison had been with a leading Democrat politician who might have aspired to the Presidency but for his domestic record, and his force had mesmerized her.

“And how are you getting on, old dear?” she asked. “Was your marriage a success?”

Your marriage! His secret was known in the theatre then, for she could not have heard it in America!

She had heard it in the theatre —not from the faithful Maccabaeus, he might be sure. It was one of the Chorus whom she had met going into his office who had told her. Tara had been to Old Mac to try and get a part in the new piece, but found all the principal parts filled. In any case, he would not have dared to suggest her name to Gray, after her breaking her former contract, though she would have done the leading lady in “The Uniform Girl” far better than Guinevere Jones, whose humour was ponderous.

Gray paused before he spoke again. Should he tell Tara? Then he grasped the nettle. If it was his business to be divorced for infidelity, coupled with desertion, it was not a time to be squeamish about appearances. The more they were against him, the easier the divorce would be.

“We can’t get on, Tara,” he blurted out. ” I’m going to “let her divorce me.”

“And does she want to?”

” Yes.”

“Silly fool!” she said. “I wish I’d never left you I I’ve never met such a good ‘un since!”

“Thank you, Tara, for the character you give me!” he said bitterly.

“Well, you are a good ‘un, Oliver —quite straight in the grain, if a little giddy!”

“I’m not very giddy now, Tara, I’m afraid.”

“It seems not. Well, can’t I help you, old dear?”

“I don’t see how.”

“Well, I could be the lady if I couldn’t do anything else! Snooker wouldn’t care; so long as he can ‘off ‘ the marriage, he isn’t particular about the ‘enters’ and ‘exits’!”

“It’s very generous of you, Tara, but I couldn’t let you drag yourself through the mire to save me.”

“Oh, skittles! I see you’re just as much of a mug as ever! I shall have to do the job for you.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort!”

“You can’t prevent me! You may spoil what I’m going to do by your muggishness, but you can’t stop my doing it, if I want to. And I do want to, because you’re a jolly good sort. And a woman of sense can manage these things so much better than a man can.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked, still unconvinced.

“That’s my affair,” she said. “But if you’ll give me the name of your lawyer, you needn’t do another thing except refuse to defend the case. The evidence will be all right.”

“How shall I know?” asked Gray.

“By waiting till your lawyer tells you.”

Very reluctantly he gave her the name —Czarto Bilinsky, 9, Elysian Chambers, Holborn.

“Oh, old Billy! He knows me! He’ll be glad to work with somebody who understands what she’s doing. Will you leave it to me, Oliver?” she asked, suddenly changing her manner for that of a lady. “I want to spare you the humiliation of all this—this sort of thing doesn’t mean so much to Tara Claflin as it does to you.”

“I don’t see how I can, Tara. I should be such a bounder if I let you!”

“My dear boy, it isn’t a matter of your letting me—I’m going to do it whether you let me or not! It’s a question of whether you’re going to spoil my well-meant efforts with your clumsy conscience ! If you do that, I shall have done what I do for nothing, and you’ll have to do it all again for yourself. A man like you has to be protected from himself, Oliver!”

“Very well, Tara, I’ll let you. I know I’m a bounder to let you, but I can’t see how I’m to go through with this thing at all without being a bounder! It’s an impossible position, having to accuse oneself of a dishonour one has not committed, in order to rob oneself of one’s greatest treasure!”

“I know what I should like to do to Miss Mirabel Douglas!” said Tara.

He did not ask her, but she did not wait to be asked.

“I’d like to marry her to Snooker!”