“A wonderful story,” said Richard. “I often think of Jack Putty as a model: a man who was really able to love his brother as himself. That is the only sort of love, love which will sacrifice everything, put up with everything, yet ask for nothing in return. Selfish love is misery, I suppose it deserves to be, but how does one avoid it?”
“Why do you think Jack Putty felt unselfish love?” Anne asked, feeling rather puzzled.
“You don’t think he tried to go back into the fire for the third time because it was gentlemanly, do you? though I’ve no doubt he really was a gentleman,” answered Richard.
“You would not have thought Jack Putty was a gentleman if you had seen him,” said his mother.
“I daresay not, but I should have been wrong ... he was fearless, and he was independent,” said Richard.
“He certainly was not a biddable man,” said Mrs. Sotheby. “But that was the only thing he had in common with his second cousin, Captain Purdue.”
“The Peck boy went in once, to rescue the two girls, but I should not have gone in at all. I don’t think I should go into a burning house even if you or Rachel were inside it. I’m sure if Ginette ... Grandison.... But it’s not a proof of love at all; some people will risk their lives to save a kitten.” He muttered something else, but the others could not catch it.
“I must be going,” said Anne, getting up. “Gracious me, it is past six o’clock.” And thanking Mrs. Sotheby for her story and kissing Rachel, she hurried back through the rain to the vicarage to prepare supper.
TEN: NO GOOD-BYES
It was morning before Anne could find any sleep, and the hours she spent lying in the darkness with her eyes open, or sometimes standing at her bedroom window gazing out at the pale lawn and the moony spaces of the orchard beyond, listening to the whispering notes of the little owls, and to the weather-vane on the dove house, whimpering as it swung in the wind: those hours were remembered afterwards as the most miserable of her life.