“I have not cast suspicions. My worst fault is to have listened to those of others. There is no love without jealousy.”
“There is no love without perfect trust. If a man really loves a woman, does he set himself to doubt her, to gather up the malicious tattle of her enemies, and carry it to her, like an accusing judge, and ask her to clear herself? Ah, no! If he loves her, he first crushes the slander and the enemy together, and then comes to tell her what he has done.”
“Listen to me.”
“Wait! But I cannot expect to be treated like that. My good name is of no importance to me; I am public property. There would be nothing to talk about in the club smoking-rooms if we poor singers were to be respected. It is natural that we should be bad. And so you come to me and repeat the accusations which you had not the courage to despise. And that is your love!”
“I implore you—”
“No! With us poor girls it is different. We have not your prudence and self-restraint. Where we love we do not ask for references. We give our hearts without reserve, and from the moment we have given them, instead of searching for stains on the character of the man we love, we set ourselves to see only the good in him; we shut our eyes to the evil; we screen his faults; if others attack him, we defend him; and if the world casts him out, we cling to him all the more.”
Her voice sank down and ended in a sob. Hammond clasped his hands together in despair.
“Why did I ever hesitate? I was a coward. I dreaded the idea of even a whisper being raised against my wife. Forgive me.”
“And you were right. Yes, I forgive you.”
The answer came softly, and the man’s heart was thrilled to the core.