He did not understand, and it was impossible to explain without entering into a complete exposition of Ulick's idea regarding "Parsifal." The subject of "Parsifal" had always been disagreeable to him, but he had not been able to find any argument against the art of it. So the criticism "revolting hypocrisy," "externality," and the statement that the prelude to "Lohengrin" was an inspiration, whereas the prelude to "Parsifal" was but a marvellous piece of handicraft, delighted him. He had always known these things, but had not been able to give them expression. He wondered how Evelyn had attained to so clear an understanding, and then, unconsciously detecting another mind in the argument, he said—
"I wonder what Ulick Dean thinks of 'Parsifal?' Something original, I'm sure."
She could not explain that she had not intended to deceive; she could not tell him that she was so pressed and obsessed by the question of her marriage that she hardly knew what she was saying, and had repeated Ulick's ideas mechanically. She already seemed to stand convicted of insincerity. He evidently suspected her, and all the while he spoke of Ulick and "Parsifal," she suffered a sort of trembling sickness, and that he should have perceived whence her enlightenment had come embittered her against him. Suddenly he came to the end of what he had to say; their eyes met, and he said,—
"Very well, Evelyn, we'll be married next week; is that soon enough?"
The abruptness of his choice fell upon her so suddenly, that she answered stupidly that next week would do very well. She felt that she ought to get up and kiss him, and she was painfully conscious that her expression was the reverse of pleased.
"I don't want to limp to the altar; were it not for the gout I'd say to-morrow.... But something has happened, something has forced you to this?"
He did not dare to suggest scruples of conscience. But his thoughts were already back in Florence.
"Only that you often have said you'd like to marry me. One never knows if such things are true. It may have been mere gallantry on your part; on the other hand, I am vain enough to believe that perhaps you meant it." Then it seemed to her that she must be sincere. "As I am determined that our present relations shall cease, there was no help for it but to come and tell you."
Her eyes were cast down; the expression of her face was calm resolution, whereas his face betrayed anxiety, and the twitching and pallor of the eyes a secret indecision with which he was struggling.
"Then I suppose it is scruples of conscience.... You've been to Mass at St. Joseph's."