“If you were really in love, your love died a rather easy death. That is all.”
“That is true,” George answered, smiling in spite of himself.
“Do you remember the first of May as well as you did three months ago? Perhaps. I do not say that you have forgotten it altogether. When I told you her decision, you did not act like a man who has received a terrible blow. You were furiously, outrageously angry. You wished that I had been a man, that you might have struck me.”
“I believed that I had cause to be angry. Besides, I have extraordinary natural gifts in that direction.”
“Of course you had cause. But if you had loved her—as some people love—you would have forgotten to be angry for once in your life and you would have behaved very differently.”
“I daresay you are right. As I came here to-day I was thinking over it all. You know I have not been here since that day. In old times I could feel my heart beating faster as I came near the house, and when I rang the bell my hand used to tremble. To-day I walked here as coolly as though I had been going home, and when I was at the door I was much more concerned to know whether you were better than to know whether your sister was in the house or not. Such is the unstability of the human heart.”
“Yes—when there is no real love in it,” Grace answered. “And the strongest proof that there was none in yours is that you are willing to own it. What made you think that you were so fond of her? How came you to make such a mistake?”
“I cannot tell. I would not talk to any one else as I am talking to you. But we understand each other, she is your sister and you never believed in our marriage. It began very gradually. Any man would fall in love with her, if he had the chance. She was interested in me. She was kind to me, when I got little kindness from any one——”
“And none at all from me, poor man!” interrupted Grace.
“Especially none from you. It was she who always urged me to write a book, though I did not believe I could; it was to her that I read my first novel from beginning to end. It was she who seized upon it and got it published in spite of my protests—it was she who launched me and made my first success what it was. I owe her very much more than I could ever hope to repay, if I possessed any means of showing my gratitude. I loved her for her kindness and she liked me for my devotion—perhaps for my submission, for I was very submissive in those days. I had not learned to run alone, and if she would have had me I would have walked in her leading-strings to the end of my life.”