VI.
Whatever It was It was there. You could doubt away yourself and Richard, but you couldn't doubt away It.
It might leave you for a time, but it came back. It came back. Its going only intensified the wonder of its return. You might lose all sense of it between its moments; but the thing was certain while it lasted. Doubt it away, and still what had been done for you lasted. Done for you once for all, two years ago. And that wasn't the first time.
Even supposing you could doubt away the other times.—You might have made the other things happen by yourself. But not that. Not giving Richard up and still being happy. That was something you couldn't possibly have done yourself. Or you might have done it in time—time might have done it for you—but not like that, all at once, making that incredible, supernatural happiness and peace out of nothing at all, in one night, and going on in it, without Richard. Richard himself didn't believe it was possible. He simply thought it hadn't happened.
Still, even then, you might have said it didn't count so long as it was nothing but your private adventure; but not now, never again now when it had happened to Richard.
His letter didn't tell you whether he thought there was anything in it.
He saw the "queerness" of it and left it there:
"Something happened that night after you'd gone. You know how I felt. I couldn't stop wanting you. My mind was tied to you and couldn't get away. Well—that night something let go—quite suddenly. Something went.
"It's a year ago and it hasn't come back.
"I didn't know what on earth you meant by 'not wanting and still caring'; but I think I see now. I don't 'want' you any more and I 'care' more than ever….
"Don't 'work like blazes.' Still I'm glad you like it. I can get you any amount of the same thing—more than you'll care to do."