“Good God, man, what woman do you think could wish to live with you! I suppose Marian wanted a human being to live with, and not a calculating machine. You would drive any woman away. If you had feeling enough to have kicked him out of the house, and then beaten her black and blue for encouraging him, you would have been more of a man than you are: she would have loved you more. You are not a man: you are a stone full of brains—such as they are! Listen to me, Mr. Conolly. There is one chance left—if you will only make haste. Go after them; overtake them; thrash him within an inch of his life; and bring her back and punish her how you please so long as you shew her that you care. You can do it if you will only make up your mind: he is a coward; and he is afraid of you: I have seen it in his eye. You are worth fifty of him—if you would only not be so cold blooded—if you will only go—dear Mr. Conolly—youre not really insensible—you will, wont you?”
This, the first tender tone he had ever heard in her voice, made him look at her curiously. “What does the letter say?” he asked, still quietly, but inexorably.
She snatched it up again. “Here,” she said. “‘Our marriage was a mistake. I am going away with Douglas to the other side of the world. It is all I can do to mend matters. Pray forget me.’ That is what her letter says, since you condescend to ask.”
“It is too late, then. You felt that as you read it, I think?”
“Yes,” she cried, sitting down in a paroxysm of grief, but unable to weep. “It is too late; and it is all your fault. What business had you to go away? You knew what was going to happen. You intended it to happen. You wanted it to happen. You are glad it has happened; and it serves you right. ‘Pray forget her.’ Oh, yes, poor girl! she need not trouble about that. I declare there is nothing viler, meaner, cowardlier, selfisher on earth than a man. Oh, if we had only done what we always said we would do—kept free from you!”
“It was a good plan,” said Conolly, submissively.
“Was it? How were we to know that you were not made of flesh and blood, pray? There, let me go. [The table was between them; but she rose and shook off an imaginary detaining hand.] I dont want to hear anything more about it. I suppose you are right not to care. Very likely she was right to go, too; so we are all right, and everything is for the best, no doubt. Marian is ruined, of course; but what does that matter to you? She was only in your way. You can console yourself with your—” Here Armande came in; and Elinor turned quickly to the fireplace and stood there, so that the housemaid should not see her face.
“Your dinner, sir,” said Armande, with a certain artificiality of manner that was, under the circumstances, significant. “There is a nice fire in the laboratory.”
“Thank you,” said Conolly. “Presently, Armande.”
“The things will spoil if you wait too long, sir. The mistress was very particular with me and cook about it.” And Armande, with an air of declining further responsibility, went out.