“Oh, you’d rather lose him!” said Kitty almost savagely. “Knowing how hard it is to keep a man under the best circumstances, you’d willingly make the circumstances as bad as they can be—is that it? Besides, weren’t you sorry afterwards that you wrote that letter?”
“Yes, yes, desperately sorry.”
“And you wished often that your real self had written on Derby Day and not the scratch-cat you were then?”
Mona flushed, but answered bravely, “Yes, a thousand times.”
“What business had you to show him your cat-self, your unreal, not your real self on Derby Day five years ago? Wasn’t it your duty to show him your real self?”
Mona nodded helplessly. “Yes, I know it was.”
“Then isn’t it your duty to see that your real self speaks in that letter now?”
“I want him to know me exactly as I am, and then—”
Kitty made a passionate gesture. Was ever such an uncomprehending woman as this diamond-button of a wife?
“And then you would be unhappy ever after instead of being happy ever after. What is the good of prejudicing your husband against you by telling the unnecessary truth. He is desperate, and besides, he has been away from you for five years, and we all change somehow—particularly men, when there are so many women in the world, and very pretty women of all ages and kinds and colours and tastes, and dazzling, deceitful hussies too. It isn’t wise for any woman to let her husband or any one at all see her exactly as she is; and only the silly ones do it. They tell what they think is the truth about their own wickedness, and it isn’t the truth at all, because I suppose women don’t know how to tell the exact truth; and they can be just as unfair to themselves as they are to others. Besides, haven’t you any sense of humour, Mrs. Crozier? It’s as good as a play, this. Just think: after five years of desertion, and trouble without end, and it all put right by a little sleight-of-hand. Shall I open it?”