Paul's intolerance scarcely permitted him to answer her. Most women, who go in for making the world right over a cup of tea, do! "If anything good comes to the working people of this country it will be through direct action." He could not go on. His words suffocated him. He knew that she was cursing him once more with the sin of youth. "I can't expect people who don't know anything about actual conditions to agree with me." His trembling hands fumbled helplessly in his pockets. It was all dim between them. Love. I must love the world. She has never suffered. It was almost as if she must suffer before he could go on with what he believed. The world that was old seemed stronger and harder than he could bear. People work because they must starve otherwise. She goes to work that is only another diversion. They die. I could die. Dead beast. Beauty and the beast. His heart was like a stone.
Julia, watching him as they walked, saw his gullet move in his long stooped neck. Poor awkward child! "I like you for feeling all this, Paul. I used to feel the same things."
"I suppose you don't believe in them now!"
"I'm afraid I don't, Paul—not entirely. So many people have tried." She was jealous of the child's illusion, but at the same time complacently sad. He doesn't know me. The boy doesn't know me. Pity, baby, Dudley, Charles, Laurence.
"It wouldn't be hopeless if they didn't all pat themselves on the back for being disillusioned."
"What would you think then if I said I envied you?" She loved him for misjudging her. It magnified the importance of her loneliness. They were at a crossing where they must part. "Are you going this way?" What makes the child look at me like that! He's unhappy. Paul said, "No." "Then you'll come to see us—come to see May and me?" His hand did not take hers, only permitted her grasp. She smiled and went on, feeling that she was leaving something behind that she had meant to keep.
He remembered her eyes, proud and humble at the same time, that asked of him. As she left him it was as if he were dying. I must love some one! He thought of her soul, a physical soul, meager and abandoned. All at once an unasked thing possessed him. I love her! He was sick with sudden terror and surprise. He walked blindly, jostling people he met. She takes everything beautiful out of my life! His hands clenched in his pockets. No. When he said love, he meant hate.
The Indian girl walked down the grass to the ship. The waves, pale and white-crested, parted before her. The waves were like white breasts lying apart waiting for him. It was cold in the sea. She wants to kill me. Now he knew what was meant by death—beautiful in coldness. White breasts like sculptured things. They were so still he could lie in them forever. Death. The peace of perfection. In the cold pure sky quivered the thin rays of stars. The end of life. I love her, not beautiful—her weak body torn by life.
No, no, no! He could not endure it. Seas paler, and paler still. Not beautiful. The water ran out forever. Dawn, and the empty sands like glowing shadows of silk. A sandpiper flying overhead made dim reflections of himself. With flashings of heavy light, the water unrolled, and sank back from the beach.