“Is that all?” he said.
She did not understand his tone. “Is it too much to ask?” she said.
“No, it is very little—less than nothing. Do you think I care a damn what happens to either of them now?” His voice shook a little.
She turned her face towards him as she walked. “Yes, you do care,” she said. “And that’s why it isn’t easy. But, Arthur, listen! There is no one on this earth who has the shadow of a right to interfere between a man and woman who love each other. When I say love, I don’t mean the mere physical attraction which so many mistake for love. I mean that holy thing, the love of the spirit, which nothing can ever change or take away. That is too sacred to be tampered with, and no third person should ever presume to touch it. It comes from God, and it should command our utmost reverence,—even our homage.”
She spoke very earnestly, for somehow—in spite of that terrible coldness at her heart—it seemed essential that he should see this thing with her eyes. It lay with her—she knew it lay with her—to save him from committing a great wrong, and to avert another sorrow from Tetherstones.
But as they paced on towards the open starlight in front of them, his silence seemed to hold but little hope. And the coldness grew and spread within her, paralysing her. She knew if this effort failed, she could not make another.
Arthur spoke at last. “Are you suggesting that they should go on exactly as if this had not happened? If my father came to know of it,—it would drive him crazy.”
“Your father need not know,” she said. “He is an old man. It rests with you, not with him.”
“Ah!” He stood still suddenly. “That’s true. He can’t live for ever. How many years have I told myself that, and yet I always forget it. Frances!” His voice thrilled suddenly, and then as suddenly he stopped himself. “No! I won’t say that to you. I’ll say just this. I see your point, and—I’ll act on it if I find I can. Does that satisfy you?”
“Thank you,” she said.