“How do you know that I spoke of it to anybody?” she asked, after a pause, and still with downcast eyes.
“That has nothing to do with it, Isabel. It’s true, isn’t it, that you did speak of it?”
To his surprise and embarrassment she began weeping, and hid her face in her handkerchief. He sat mutely watching her, wishing that she would stop, and perplexed at encountering on the very threshold of his inquiries and argument this un-meetable demonstration of a woman’s resources.
She presently sobbed out, from behind the perfumed cambric: “You can’t hold me accountable for what I did yesterday, or what I said! I was beside myself! I scarcely know what I thought, or what I said! I acted like a crazy woman—and felt like one, too! It is easy enough for you to be cool and collected about the thing. You are a man!”
“Yes, I know, Isabel,” he said, kindly, “I understand all that, and I can make all the allowances in the world for you, in your position. But still that doesn’t alter the fact that the thing has been said, and the harm done. To be sure, I suppose, the harm will be only temporary, but as it stands it affects the prospects of more than one person—of two persons, in fact, near to us—very materially. You know what I mean?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what can be done to remedy it? That is the question. I am not going to blame you, but still the fault was yours, and the steps to set it right ought to be yours, too, oughtn’t they?”
“What do you mean?” She looked up now, forgetting her tears.
“I am not quite sure what I do mean. I haven’t thought over details. There is simply a given situation, with the question how to get out of it, and the onus of action on you. I want you to help me think what the best way will be.”
“How logically you state it! Suppose I disavowed the whole thing, ignored it, refused to do anything or say anything. What then?”