The door closed behind him.
“Because I’m going to stop this!” she said to herself. “It can’t be! I’m going to stop it!”
That was her one object—that nothing irreparable should be said or done. She was absolutely certain that the infatuation would not last, there was not one element in it to make it permanent. She was certain that if no monstrous irrevocable folly were committed, Malloy would thankfully return to Edna, who really suited him, and that Andrée would go back to her husband.
But she was filled with terror at the possibility of that evil chance. She lay awake all that night, trying to plan how she could prevent it.
No enlightenment came. Malloy came again and again. She dreaded to speak to Andrée, for she knew how speech solidifies and strengthens the vaguest thoughts, but it could no longer be avoided. She could no longer be complaisant. She waited until Andrée was in bed one night and then she went into her room and sat beside her in the dark, at the foot of her bed.
“Andrée!” she said. “I must know!”
“I want you to, Mother. I’ve been waiting for you to ask me....” She sat up and flung her arms round her mother.
“Oh, my darling!” she said. “I’m so terribly, terribly sorry! I know I’ve made you suffer. I know it’s a dreadful thing to do to dear little Edna! But I can’t help it! I thought at first it would only be a lark. I didn’t mean any harm. I never imagined this would come! But now it’s too late! I love him so, Mother! I never knew what love was before. I never, never felt like this about Al.... Oh, Mother! I’d stop if I could! I don’t want to hurt you or Edna. But I can’t help it!”
“You can, Andrée! It’s not necessary to do what you want.”
“You’re so cold and so—good, you can’t understand! I love Francis so that I can’t give him up. No matter what harm it does, to me, or anyone else.”