Sylvia, when she understood that Arthur had not said anything about their past, had a strong desire to tell Mrs. Madden that she had lived with him for a year. She resented the way she had said “poor boy.” She checked the impulse and assured her that if Arthur had spoken of their marriage he had had no right to do so. It really was most improbable that she should marry him; oh, but most improbable.
“You always spoke very severely about love when you were a little girl. Do you remember? You must forgive a mother, but I must tell you that I believe Arthur’s happiness depends upon your marrying him. He talks of nothing else and makes such plans for the future.”
“He makes too many plans,” Sylvia said, severely.
“Ah, there soon comes a time when one ceases to make plans,” Mrs. Madden sighed. “One is reduced to expedients. But now that you’re a woman, and I can easily believe that you’re the clever woman Arthur says you are, for you gave every sign of it when you were young—now that you’re a woman, I do hope you’ll be a merciful woman. It’s such a temptation—you must forgive my plain speaking—it’s such a temptation to keep a man like Arthur hanging on. You must have noticed how young he is still—to all intents and purposes quite a boy; and believe me he has the same romantic adoration for you and your wonderfulness as he had when he was seventeen. Don’t, I beg of you, treat such devotion too lightly.”
Sylvia could not keep silent under this unjustified imputation of heartlessness, and broke out:
“I’m sure you’ll admit that Arthur has given quite a wrong idea of me when I tell you that we lived together for a year; and you must remember that I’ve been married already and know what it means. Arthur has no right to complain of me.”
“Oh, Sylvia, I’m sorry!” Mrs. Madden almost whispered. “Oh dear! how could Arthur do such a thing?”
“Because I made him, of course. Now you must forgive me if I say something that hurts your feelings, but I must say it. When you ran away with your husband, you must have made him do it. You must have done.”
“Good gracious me!” Mrs. Madden exclaimed. “I suppose I did. I never looked at it in that light before. You’ve made me feel quite ashamed of my behavior. Quite embarrassed. And I suppose everybody has always blamed me entirely; but because my husband was one of my father’s servants I always used to be defending him. I never thought of defending myself.”
Sylvia was sorry for stirring up in Mrs. Madden’s placid mind old storms. It was painful to see this faded gentlewoman in the little suburban bedroom, blushing nervously at the unlady-like behavior of long ago. Presently Mrs. Madden pulled herself up and said, with a certain decision: