“But listen. At last one day—or rather one November night—he did let her know in words that he loved her, and she—she made him think that his words agitated her.”
“Perhaps they did—perhaps they agitated her disagreeably. They must have done so, if she was unprepared for them as you have made out.”
“But later on she gave him an unmistakable proof that her liking and trust were as strong as ever. And then again she avoided him; and, when he insisted on an interview and an explanation, she put him off by telling him there was an obstacle between them, but still without telling what that obstacle was.”
“What did it matter what it was, as long as it was insurmountable? That was all that could concern him.”
“He ought to have been told what it was, so that at least he might not be left to think that it was merely an excuse to get rid of a man of whom she had grown tired. But she had another surprise in store for him; she disappeared without letting him know what had become of her.”
“And he has spent his time ever since in a vain and romantic pursuit of her?”
“Oh, dear, no! He went back to town, furnished a new set of chambers, and has grown more particular about his cooking.”
“And you hold him up as an object of sympathy? He is a man to whom an offer of sympathy would be an impertinence.”
“He does not want sympathy, but justice; and, if he cannot get that, he will have revenge—and melodramatic revenge, of course, but small, spiteful, mean, and modern!”
“I don’t think such a threat would frighten her from you.”