"Where is she now, dear?"
"I don't know—in London somewhere, I believe; she returns to Africa in a few days."
"And you, Hector, what do you mean to do, to go back with her? If so, tell me now, and—and..." Lucy paused, and then went on, "if that's what you really want, Hector, if it—it's not only a passing infatuation, and you feel you cannot live without this woman, I—I will help you, dear."
"What do you mean?"
"This, that I am too proud, Hector, to keep you tied to me against your will. I—I don't look upon marriage as some do, as a chain which nothing can break. Love's the only chain I recognise, and if that is broken between us I will set you free, Hector."
"You want to get rid of me, is that it, Lucy?"
"Oh, my God, Hector, if there is but a chance, the merest atom of hope, I would cling to it, but I—I don't think there is, somehow. Hector, is there?"
Here was the way made easy, here were the obstacles lying down of their own free will to let him pass, and yet, strangely enough, it was this very ease that conquered Hector now and dealt the final blow to resolution.
Had Lucy opposed him, had she but hinted that the bond between them was indissoluble, Hector's soul would have risen in instant rebellion, and with rebellion would have come strength to act. But Lucy's love for once had made her subtle, and so, there being no opposition and nothing to fight, the sword remained useless in the scabbard.
"Hector," she went on, and her lips were now set in a firm straight line, "tell me, are you going back with this woman to South Africa or not?"