“No doubt,” Sylvia agreed. “But luckily for me one of the benefits conferred by my temperament is an ability to throw aside things that have disappointed me, things that have ceased to be useful—and what applies to things applies even more strongly to people.”
“You mean to say you’ve put Lily right out of your life?” Michael exclaimed.
He was shocked by the notion, for he did not realize until this moment how much he had been depending upon Sylvia for peace of mind.
“Haven’t you put her out of your life?” she asked, looking round at him sharply. Until this question she had been staring sullenly down at the grass.
“Well, I had to,” said Michael.
“You’re bearing up very well under the sad necessity,” she sneered.
“I don’t know that I am bearing up very well. I don’t think that coming to you to talk about it is a special sign of fortitude.”
“What do you want me to do?” Sylvia demanded. “Get her back into your life again? Isn’t that the phrase you like?”
“Oh, no, that’s unimaginable,” said Michael. “You see, it was really the second time. Once six years ago, and again now, very much more—more utterly. You said that your temperament enables you to throw off things and people. Mine makes me bow to what I fancy are irremediable strokes of fate.”
“Unimaginable! Irremediable! We’re turning this interview into a Rossetti sonnet,” Sylvia scoffed.