“That’s why I tell you you’re afraid.”
“Afraid?”
“Yes. You’ve always said you wanted, above all, to look at life, at the human problem, as it is, without fear and without hypocrisy; and it’s not always a pleasant thing to look at.” He broke off, and then began again: “Don’t think this a plea for myself! I don’t want to say a word to lessen my offense. I don’t want to talk of myself at all. Even if I did, I probably couldn’t make you understand—I don’t, myself, as I look back. Be just to me—it’s your right; all I ask you is to be generous to Miss Viner...”
She stood up trembling. “You’re free to be as generous to her as you please!”
“Yes: you’ve made it clear to me that I’m free. But there’s nothing I can do for her that will help her half as much as your understanding her would.”
“Nothing you can do for her? You can marry her!”
His face hardened. “You certainly couldn’t wish her a worse fate!”
“It must have been what she expected ... relied on...” He was silent, and she broke out: “Or what is she? What are you? It’s too horrible! On your way here ... to me...” She felt the tears in her throat and stopped.
“That was it,” he said bluntly. She stared at him.
“I was on my way to you—after repeated delays and postponements of your own making. At the very last you turned me back with a mere word—and without explanation. I waited for a letter; and none came. I’m not saying this to justify myself. I’m simply trying to make you understand. I felt hurt and bitter and bewildered. I thought you meant to give me up. And suddenly, in my way, I found some one to be sorry for, to be of use to. That, I swear to you, was the way it began. The rest was a moment’s folly ... a flash of madness ... as such things are. We’ve never seen each other since...”