“Elsie telephoned and of course I came at once. Have sent for my trunks and I’ll stay till he’s well. She’s got to a place in her new novel where she doesn’t dare drop it (Polly concocted this hastily), but she knows you’ll understand, and will be over before long.”
“Oh? That’s the first clumsy lie I ever heard you get off. It’s plain Elsie still thinks I tried to kill Eustace.”
“What if she does? What does it matter? She’ll get over it—ought to be rather grateful to you—have my suspicions——”
“Yes, it was plain enough last night. Poor Elsie! Well, I’ll give her every chance. But I can’t think why she doubts my word.” And her lip, for the first time since she was a child, quivered.
Polly, whose affection was not even threatened, for she guessed shrewdly that Gita’s pride and almost fanatical sense of honor would prompt her to avoid Geoffrey Pelham and give herself a clear field, patted her hand. “Cheer up. I’ll make her see daylight as soon as she gets over this attack of temperament. That’s what it amounts to. She’s every bit as fond of you as I am.”
CHAPTER XVII
Friendship between men may survive rivalry in love. Men have stood shoulder to shoulder through the centuries in the hard business of life, and the need of a strong abiding affection for one of their own understanding sex, is rooted in the depths of being and not to be lightly surrendered. There are instances where the woman has been sacrificed.
But there is always something artificial in the friendship of women. It is a harness lightly worn and has a faint suggestion of carnival about it. Flowers must bedeck the harness, flowers of propinquity, common interests, ambitions, tastes, mutualities of all kinds in their particular sphere. Above all, a dissimilar taste in men. Nature designed them for one purpose only, to carry on the race and guard it in childhood, and if Mind today laughs at her ingenuous plan, she has her subtle revenges. When the flowers wither the harness falls off.
Elsie realized this with a sigh. She knew that she had a certain nobility of character and lofty ideals, and had believed they would survive any test. But they seemed to have staggered under the first hard blow, and cowered aside before a healthy desire for vengeance.
Gita had nearly killed the man she loved and she should not have her almost equally beloved brother. She told herself she had idealized that girl; blinded by her novelty and personality; and now for the first time saw her for what she was. Her instinct of self-protection was strong and if she were to retain her self-respect she must not hate but despise Gita. Better to acknowledge herself a poor judge of character (when glamoured) than admit she was incapable of true friendship.