‘Yes—he is cold. He never loved a woman in his life. But I admire him and respect him, though I never quite understand him. There is always something that escapes me, something beyond my reach. Perhaps that is what they call genius.’
‘And yet no one has heard of him. He has never done anything with his talent. It is strange, too, for he is immensely wise. I wonder what the reason can be.’
‘He does not believe in anything—not even in greatness.’ answered Greif. ‘I believe his mind is so large that the greatest things seem little to him. I have heard him talk about almost everything at one time or another. The end of all his arguments is that nothing is worth while. And there is a reason, too. His father’s disgrace has pursued him since he was a child.’
Greif’s voice fell suddenly, and his face grew dark.
‘And what should I be, then!’ he exclaimed a moment later.
‘What he is, were you in his place.’ Hilda answered. ‘But you are not, you see.’
‘But for you, Hilda, but for you.’
‘You for me, and I for you, my beloved. That is what love means.’
Their hearts were too full for either of them to speak much so soon as they approached the question which had so nearly destroyed all their happiness. For a long time they were silent, unconscious of the swift flight of the hours, little guessing what a strange drama was being enacted almost beneath their feet, in the solitary room where Rex had determined to lay down the burden of life in the cause of honour.
‘I must go to him.’ said Greif at last.