“Heaven knows I’ve done my best,” she said. “I swore I wouldn’t let Dick’s death spoil my life. I married Fred because he could give me everything else—everything but what was impossible, and he’s a good fellow.” She paused, then went on again, her voice very low and thin. “There’s only one thing would do me any good—if I could hurt those who’ve hurt me. That God, who let all this happen. I’m not the only one. That God they teach us is almighty, and this is the best he can do for us. You don’t believe He’s there at all, father—oh no, you don’t—I’m not a fool! But I do, and I see Him watching it all happening, letting it all happen, according to plan, as those damned Germans used to say. If only I could hurt them—hurt them myself. If they had only one neck that I could wring—with my own two hands—slowly—very slowly—I think that would do me good.”
North pulled himself together.
“How long have you been feeling like this, Vi?” he asked.
“Ever since they killed Dick,” she said dully, as if the fire had smouldered down, after a sudden sheet of flame. “I think I am made up of hate, father. It’s the strongest thing in me. It’s so strong that I can’t love any more. I don’t think I love Dick now. And Fred, sometimes I hate Fred, and he’s a good fellow, you know.”
The words filled North with a vague uncanny horror. He struggled after normal, everyday words, but for a moment none came. He knew the girl was overwrought, suffering from strain, but what was it that had looked at him out of those vehement, passionate eyes?
“Look here, Vi,” he said at length, striving to speak naturally, “you are just imagining things. Can’t you take a pull on yourself and go easy for a bit? You’re overdoing it, you know, and these sort of ideas are the result.”
“I’m sorry, father.”
She bent sideways, letting her head rest against his shoulder, and seeking his hand, held it close. Such a demonstration was foreign to her with him. When she was small, some queer form of jealousy on her mother’s part had come between them. He felt shy and awkward.
“I don’t know what made me break out like that,” she went on. “I think it must have been coming back here and seeing everything just the same as it used to be before the war came. Until to-day, when I’ve been down it’s been so quiet and different, with no parties, and nothing going on. Now it’s gone back like everything else is going back—only I cannot.”
“Nothing goes back, dear,” answered North. “It’s not the same for anyone really. Not even for the quiet young people who’ll come and play here without a trouble as you used to. But there’s always the interest of going forward. If we’ve suffered, at least we’ve gained experience from it, which is knowledge. And there’s always some work to be done for every season that could not be done sooner or later. That helps, I think.”