He sat down heavily and blinked through his spectacles.
“I seem,” he said, “I seem to have brought my children into the world to very little happiness. I suppose Minna ought never to have married a poor man. . . . It’s very queer, Serge, very queer. One reads of these things and the rights and wrongs of them appear to be very simple. They happen in one’s own family and the rights and wrongs don’t appear so simple. . . . If Minna were to come in now, I should be glad to see her. I should at least know that she was safe. . . .”
“The truth is,” said Serge, “that the rights and wrongs don’t matter. You either love people or you don’t. If you love them, you help them. If you don’t, some one else does.”
“I think,” said Francis, “I had better go to London. I always liked Basil. He always liked me. I might be able to make him see reason. . . . Minna says she is innocent. He ought to take her back.”
“My dear father, that isn’t reason. That is nonsense. . . . You’re thinking of what people will say. Public opinion doesn’t matter any more than my opinion or your opinion. If they have fallen so far apart as to wish to break the tie between them it will be quite impossible for them to live together without degradation——”
“You go so fast. I can’t follow you. I don’t see . . .”
“It is always degrading for a man and a woman to live together when they have no love for each other.”
“Dear me!” murmured Francis. “Dear me!” His face wore an expression of immense surprise. He went on muttering to himself in a puzzled way, and finally, with a sort of triumph, as though he had found the solution of his riddle:
“But if they are married?”