“Because April herself would rather be told by anyone than me.”
It was his last appeal and he saw that it had succeeded. Ralph repeated the words over to himself.
“April would rather be told—— Oh, but rot! She’d much rather have it out straight.”
“Oh, no, she wouldn’t; you don’t know April as well as I do. She hates scenes; she could discuss it impersonally with you. With me—can’t you see how it would hurt her; she wouldn’t know how to take it, whether to plead, or just accept it—can’t you see?”
He had won, and he knew it, through the appeal to April’s feelings. Ralph would do what he wanted, because he would think that he was performing a service for April.
“I expect you’re right,” he said; “you know her better than I do, but I’m doing it for her, not for you, mind.”
“Yes, yes, I understand.”
“If it wasn’t for her I wouldn’t do it. A man should do his own dirty work. And you know what I think of it.”
“Oh, yes, I know.” He would make no defense. Ralph might be allowed in payment the poor privilege of revenge.
“And you’ll tell me what she says?”