Even this question was too
pathetic. For as far as she knew anything about herself,
she knew that her passions, once aroused, were sure. "If I
saw him often," she said, "I might remember what he is
like. Or he might grow old. But I dare not risk it, so
nothing can alter me now."
"Well, if the fancy does pass, let me know." After all,
he could say what he wanted.
"Oh, you shall know quick enough--"
"But before you retire to Sawston--are you so mighty sure?"
"What of?" She had stopped crying. He was treating her
exactly as she had hoped.
"That you and he--" He smiled bitterly at the thought of
them together. Here was the cruel antique malice of the
gods, such as they once sent forth against Pasiphae.
Centuries of aspiration and culture--and the world could not
escape it. "I was going to say--whatever have you got in
common?"
"Nothing except the times we have seen each other."
Again her face was crimson. He turned his own face away.
"Which--which times?"
"The time I thought you weak and heedless, and went
instead of you to get the baby. That began it, as far as I
know the beginning. Or it may have begun when you took us
to the theatre, and I saw him mixed up with music and
light. But didn't understand till the morning. Then you
opened the door--and I knew why I had been so happy.
Afterwards, in the church, I prayed for us all; not for
anything new, but that we might just be as we were--he with
the child he loved, you and I and Harriet safe out of the
place--and that I might never see him or speak to him again.
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