It must be remembered that he came of a race of women who had, so to speak, habitually lived heroic lives. The men of his family, never able to offer ease to their women folk, expected heroism and self-sacrifice of them, and no Westenra woman had ever failed the expectation--until now! Yes, that was a thought that hurt. That ate like acid in an open wound. Val was not one of them! His wife, the woman on whom he had staked his honour and belief, was not of the stuff of which Westenra wives were made! Until that hour, spite of failure, trouble, and disappointment, he could have sworn away his soul on her loyalty--what did the mere failure of plans, or lack of money matter, when they had each other, were content to tread the same road together, the same ideals in their hearts, their eyes fixed on the same stars! And by God he could have sworn ... but what was the use! She had proved his judgment wrong, that was all. She was just the ordinary woman, sick of her job, anxious to get away from it. "Lots of women like her in America," he reflected sardonically. No one who knew the circumstance could blame her. He least of all would blame her. Only--his soul was sick within him! But, as always, he hid his wound from her. Not a sign of what he felt when at last he spoke, quietly, reflectively, almost it sounded to her, approvingly.
"No doubt it would be a very wise arrangement."
She had been twisting her hands in nervous agitation, her beautiful, strange eyes full of the ardour that had always been like wine to him, though he had never told her so. Now a rush of words came from her lips, she was almost incoherent in her gratitude.
"Oh, Joe! ... if you think so ... if you won't mind ... it will not be for long ... only six months or so--a year perhaps."
He stared at her in bitter astonishment. (Only a year perhaps! Why not ten years--twenty years--the rest of life?)
"I will take such care of your Brannie for you.... I 'll never let him forget you for a moment ... and I 'll come back so different ... ready to tackle any problem ... you 'll see what a clever housewife I will be."
(He did n't want a clever housewife. He had believed he did, but now he knew that all he wanted was Val. He had arrived at desiring nothing better than her fantastic housekeeping and gipsy camping-out methods. She had spoilt him for comfort and set rule.)
"We must get some one to take charge of the place ... Miss Holland is a splendid woman.... I know she will make a success of it ... and before I go I will find you a good housekeeper who will look after you well."
(Before she went! Oh! damn it, why should she look at him like that, as though it were for his happiness she was arranging instead of her own? As though planning loyalty instead of desertion--treachery! How could she smile--gladly, gratefully, when she was taking herself out of his life, robbing him of the light of his son's golden head!)
"And if you will let me have Haidee? ..." she spoke more diffidently now. "I fear she will be a care to you. I would do my best for her----"