“You mustn’t think I want him to be miserable,” she cried. “I don’t.”
“We quite readily believe it,” retorted Brangwen. “Neither do you intend him to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond.”
This made her think. She was rather surprised to find that she did not intend her husband to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond.
Her mother came, and they all sat down to tea, talking casually.
“Remember, child,” said her mother, “that everything is not waiting for your hand just to take or leave. You mustn’t expect it. Between two people, the love itself is the important thing, and that is neither you nor him. It is a third thing you must create. You mustn’t expect it to be just your way.”
“Ha—nor do I. If I did I should soon find my mistake out. If I put my hand out to take anything, my hand is very soon bitten, I can tell you.”
“Then you must mind where you put your hand,” said her father.
Anna was rather indignant that they took the tragedy of her young married life with such equanimity.
“You love the man right enough,” said her father, wrinkling his forehead in distress. “That’s all as counts.”
“I do love him, more shame to him,” she cried. “I want to tell him—I’ve been waiting for four days now to tell him——” her face began to quiver, the tears came. Her parents watched her in silence. She did not go on.