FullReads

“I want to know. Everybody knows, I suppose, but myself–and that’s your honesty!”

“I have told you there is nothing to know,” she said, speaking unsteadily as if in pain. “Nothing of what you suppose. You don’t understand me. This letter is the beginning–and the end.”

“The end–this thing has no end,” he clamoured, unexpectedly. “Can’t you understand that? I can . . . The beginning . . .”

He stopped and looked into her eyes with concentrated intensity, with a desire to see, to penetrate, to understand, that made him positively hold his breath till he gasped.

“By Heavens!” he said, standing perfectly still in a peering attitude and within less than a foot from her.

“By Heavens!” he repeated, slowly, and in a tone whose involuntary strangeness was a complete mystery to himself. “By Heavens–I could believe you–I could believe anything–now!”

He turned short on his heel and began to walk up and down the room with an air of having disburdened himself of the final pronouncement of his life–of having said something on which he would not go back, even if he could. She remained as if rooted to the carpet. Her eyes followed the restless movements of the man, who avoided looking at her. Her wide stare clung to him, inquiring, wondering and doubtful.

“But the fellow was forever sticking in here,” he burst out, distractedly. “He made love to you, I suppose–and, and . . .” He lowered his voice. “And–you let him.”

“And I let him,” she murmured, catching his intonation, so that her voice sounded unconscious, sounded far off and slavish, like an echo.

He said twice, “You! You!” violently, then calmed down. “What could you see in the fellow?” he asked, with unaffected wonder. “An effeminate, fat ass. What could you . . . Weren’t you happy? Didn’t you have all you wanted? Now–frankly; did I deceive your expectations in any way? Were you disappointed with our position–or with our prospects–perhaps? You know you couldn’t be–they are much better than you could hope for when you married me. . . .”

He forgot himself so far as to gesticulate a little while he went on with animation:

“What could you expect from such a fellow? He’s an outsider–a rank outsider. . . . If it hadn’t been for my money . . . do you hear? . . . for my money, he wouldn’t know where to turn. His people won’t have anything to do with him. The fellow’s no class–no class at all. He’s useful, certainly, that’s why I . . . I thought you had enough intelligence to see it. . . . And you . . . No! It’s incredible! What did he tell you? Do you care for no one’s opinion–is there no restraining influence in the world for you–women? Did you ever give me a thought? I tried to be a good husband. Did I fail? Tell me–what have I done?”

Carried away by his feelings he took his head in both his hands and repeated wildly:

“What have I done? . . . Tell me! What? . . .”

“Nothing,” she said.

“Ah! You see . . . you can’t . . .” he began, triumphantly, walking away; then suddenly, as though he had been flung back at her by something invisible he had met, he spun round and shouted with exasperation:

“What on earth did you expect me to do?”

Without a word she moved slowly towards the table, and, sitting down, leaned on her elbow, shading her eyes with her hand. All that time he glared at her watchfully as if expecting every moment to find in her deliberate movements an answer to his question. But he could not read anything, he could gather no hint of her thought. He tried to suppress his desire to shout, and after waiting awhile, said with incisive scorn:

“Did you want me to write absurd verses; to sit and look at you for hours–to talk to you about your soul? You ought to have known I wasn’t that sort. . . . I had something better to do. But if you think I was totally blind . . .”