“But I know and I care, and I want to keep the memory of it. I don’t mind it’s being darkened by circumstances, if it must be, but I do mind it’s being spoiled by our own weakness. Men are always girding at women for caring about nothing but love. They may gird fairly when we are untrue to love and let men belittle it with their impatience and arrogance. I ought not to say that to you, because you have tried, and I have done nothing but argue with myself.”
“I think you have found something which I have not even begun to see.”
“And argued about it.”
“I don’t see what else you could do.”
Cathleen thrust silently at the fire and said savagely:
“Oh! don’t you? I thought I was going to be so free with my two hundred pounds. Free, to do what? Walk in suffrage processions, break windows, insult policemen. I was free to do what I liked, but I liked nothing very much. I was too fastidious and could not take what came. Things did come. They lacked this or that necessary for my satisfaction. When my money was gone I had to creep into shelter away from the freedom I did not know how to use, and ask for work to keep myself alive, just like the girls and women in this house, who keep themselves alive for nothing, so far as I can see, except the pleasure of being tired and bored and malicious. I was in a bad way, René, when I met you. I used to go to Rachel, who is the only one of the family who will have anything to do with me, and sometimes I envied her in her stupid, unhappy comfort. She doesn’t get on with her husband, but she has a nice house and two children who alternately infuriate and amuse her. That was impossible for me. I’d hate it, just living with a man to keep a household together. But then even now I’ve hated the alternative I had arrived at, this being huddled away with a lot of useless women. Working women! A genteel occupation to support a genteel existence. The selfishness of it! People like to pretend that motherhood solves everything for a woman. It may give occupation to a dependent woman, but why should it destroy her selfishness any more than another physical fact? If she insists on it too much, it cannot do anything but accentuate her selfishness. Women can be just as greedy about motherhood as about eating or drinking or love, and they can just as easily spoil it with overindulgence. Don’t look so unhappy, René. I’m not arguing with you. I’ve had to think so much, and for months I haven’t had a soul to talk to like this. Even Lotta has her world so shaped and trim (she’s efficient, you see) that all my doubts and wonderings are just an annoyance to her, though no one could be kinder. I don’t know what I should have done without her. It was such a comfort to find a woman working really well, without insisting that hers is the only way of living, and doing good without wanting to be thankful for it. She made me patient. When you have decided what you do not wish to do, you are apt to think anything different must be better. You’re not sorry you made the ordinary career impossible for yourself?”
“Sorry?” said René, puzzled. “It was never a thing to be sorry about or glad about. It just happened and I felt better. And now I have met you and everything is changed again. I didn’t go to my home last night.”
“No?”
“I went to an old friend of mine who lives happily and contentedly. I wanted to see happiness and contentment. Somehow you had made me sure of myself, and I felt that everything was changed. But the change was in myself. In nearly everybody I have been more conscious of the things they lack than of the things they have. I had been bolstering myself up with contempt—for myself as well as everything else. It was that or being sorry for myself. Always a struggle. I can’t see it clearly yet: like righting without weapons and without a cause. I had no desire to live irregularly and uncomfortably or to come in conflict with accepted opinion as to conduct. But I don’t see why opinion should be antagonistic to a man’s private affairs. I wasn’t antagonistic. I was only doing confusedly what I felt very clearly and had always felt to be right. I feel certain now that I ought to have done so long before. I’d like to explain that to all sorts of people, except that honestly I can’t take much interest in it. I had a vague sickening feeling that the end of the world had come, but that was only because I could not see an inch before me. The end of the world did not come, neither for me nor for—her. It seems stupid to be explaining all this to you. I know you will not think I am excusing myself, because I am sure you accept me as I am——”