"It was a mistake. If you hadn't made it—"
"But it was at least a mistake one can understand. I could hardly be expected to take it for granted—whatever men may be, or may have the right to be—that the man who asked me to marry him—and who made me love him as I think few men have been loved by women—I could hardly take it for granted that he was already keeping—and had been keeping for years—and would keep for years to come—another—"
He moved impatiently. "But, I tell you, I couldn't get rid of her. I couldn't shake her off—or pay her off—or do any of the usual things. It was agreed between us before I married you—long before I married you—that everything was at an end. But, poor soul, she doesn't know what an agreement is. There's something lacking in her. She's always been like a child, and of late years she's been more so. If you knew her as I do you'd be sorry for her."
"Oh, I am sorry for her. Her whole mind is ravaged by suffering."
"I know it's my fault; but it isn't wholly or even chiefly my fault. A woman like that has no right to suffer. She lost the privilege of suffering when she became what she is. At any rate, she has no right to haunt like a shadow the man who's befriended her—"
"But, I presume, she's befriended him. And—and continues to befriend him—since that's the word."
He avoided her eyes, looking up the street and whistling tunelessly beneath his breath.
"I said—continues to befriend him," she repeated.
The tuneless whistling went on. She allowed him time to get the full effect of her meaning. As far as she could see her way, her line of action depended on his response. When he dodged the question she knew what she would have to do.
"Look here, Edith," he said, at last, "the long and short of it is this. She's on my hands—and I can't abandon her. I must see that she's provided for, at the very least. Hang it all, she's—she's attached to me; has been attached to me for more than ten years. I can't ignore that; now, can I? And she's helpless. How can I desert her? I can't do it, any more than I could desert a poor old faithful dog—or a baby. Can I, now?"