“Ever?” said Nettie.
“Never,” I said, convinced.
I made an effort within myself. “We cannot tamper with the law and customs of these things,” I said; “these passions are too close to one’s essential self. Better surgery than a lingering disease! From Nettie my love—asks all. A man’s love is not devotion—it is a demand, a challenge. And besides”—and here I forced my theme—“I have given myself now to a new mistress—and it is I, Nettie, who am unfaithful. Behind you and above you rises the coming City of the World, and I am in that building. Dear heart! you are only happiness—and that———Indeed that calls! If it is only that my life blood shall christen the foundation stones—I could almost hope that should be my part, Nettie—I will join myself in that.” I threw all the conviction I could into these words. . . . “No conflict of passion.” I added a little lamely, “must distract me.”
There was a pause.
“Then we must part,” said Nettie, with the eyes of a woman one strikes in the face.
I nodded assent. . . .
There was a little pause, and then I stood up. We stood up, all three. We parted almost sullenly, with no more memorable words, and I was left presently in the arbor alone.
I do not think I watched them go. I only remember myself left there somehow—horribly empty and alone. I sat down again and fell into a deep shapeless musing.
§ 5
Suddenly I looked up. Nettie had come back and stood looking down at me.