I let my fancy run a little way ahead, picturing the first freshness of the days that were coming. Far away, with faery sounds, bugles of the future were blowing. I was recalled to the ominous present by the frozen hopelessness of this just man. We were placing society at defiance; we were settling our problem on grounds of individual expediency. Would we have strength to be happy in spite of condemnation? Would our conception of what was just to Vi prove just in the end?
I began to waver. I thought I saw what had happened to Randall—the tension of the last weeks had wrought upon his nerves. He had brooded over the situation till remorse for his own share in it had made him lose his regard for social standards. There was a tinge of insanity about this quixotic determination to sacrifice himself.
I went over to the fireplace and pulled the smoldering logs together, so that they broke into a feeble flame. I did it leisurely to gain time. With my back towards him I inquired, “Have you reckoned the cost of all this?”
“Probably.”
“But the cost to yourself?”
“As far as I can.”
“You can’t have. You wouldn’t propose it if you had. You know what’ll be said.”
“What’ll be said?”
“That you wanted to get rid of her and that that was why you took me into your house.”
“Leave me out of it. If love means anything, it means sacrifice. I love her; you’ve come between us. My love’s injuring her now, and I’m not going to see you spoil her life by going away without her.”