Nor born to any high estate.
“Of course,” he whispered, “I remember it now. I sang it as a child—at school—go on, go on.”
But she had thereupon suddenly turned away, silent, dropping her hands to her side. One of her old black moods had seized her. He let her go and picking up another fragment of chalk completed the verse.
What can we do for Jesu’s sake
Who is so high and good and great?
She turned when he had finished and without a word walked loudly to the piano, fetched the duster and rubbed out the words they had written on the blackboard. She was glaring angrily at him.
“How absurd you are,”—he was annoyed—“let us go out and get some tea.” He wandered off to the door, but she did not follow. He stood just outside gazing vacantly at a stuffed jay that had an indigo eye. He looked into the room again. She was there still, just as he had left her; her head bent, her hands hanging clasped before her, the dimness covering and caressing her—a figure full of sad thoughts. He ran to her and crushed her in his arms again.
“Kate, my lovely.”
She was saying brokenly: “You know what I said. I’ve come to make it all up to you. I promised, didn’t I?”
Something shuddered in his very soul—too late, too late, this was no love for him. The magic lantern looked a stupid childish toy, the smell of the acid was repulsive. Of all they had written upon the blackboard one word dimly remained: Jesu.
She stirred in his arms. “You are changed, David.”