“You think you know it because you feel it. Not a bad reason, either.”
“Then you ARE going to leave me?”
“Do you not feel it and know it? Yes, my cherished Hetty, I assuredly am.”
She broke into wild exclamations of grief, and he drew her head down and kissed her with a tender action which she could not resist, and a wry face which she did not see.
“My poor Hetty, you don’t understand me.”
“I only understand that you hate me, and want to go away from me.”
“That would be easy to understand. But the strangeness is that I LOVE you and want to go away from you. Not for ever. Only for a time.”
“But I don’t want you to go away. I won’t let you go away,” she said, a trace of fierceness mingling with her entreaty. “Why do you want to leave me if you love me?”
“How do I know? I can no more tell you the whys and wherefores of myself than I can lift myself up by the waistband and carry myself into the next county, as some one challenged a speculator in perpetual motion to do. I am too much a pessimist to respect my own affections. Do you know what a pessimist is?”
“A man who thinks everybody as nasty as himself, and hates them for it.”