“Not you,” I protested. “It’s I who’ve behaved abominably.”
He shifted in his chair; struck a match; raised it part way to his cigar and let it flicker out. Without looking at me he answered, “We shan’t gain anything by quarreling over who’s to blame. We’ve got her into a mess between us—it’s up to us to get her out.”
“But you didn’t——”
He flung out his arm in irritation. “Don’t waste words. I married her when she was too young to know what marriage meant; I loved her and supposed that nothing else mattered. That’s my share. You made love to my wife and followed her to Sheba. That’s yours. We’ve got her into a mess between us, and we’ve got to get her out.”
He waited for me to make a suggestion; I was too much taken aback. We couldn’t get her out; we could only help her to endure it. We both knew that—so why discuss it?
Turning his head and staring hard at me, he continued, “There’s only one thing to be considered—her happiness.”
“Perhaps she’ll forget when I’m gone,” I ventured.
“She won’t and you know it.”
He barked the words. His manner was losing its air of tired patience.
“See here, Cardover, you and I have got to get down to facts. We don’t help one another by fooling ourselves. You went out of her life for a year; she didn’t forget. It’s different now; you’ve been with her in this house and everything will remind her of you. What are we going to do about it?”