“Why did you never tell me all this before?”
“Because my affection was always stronger than my resentment; because I preferred to err on the side of kindness; because I had, myself, in a measure, launched you in the world and thrown you into temptations; and because nothing short of your unwarrantable aggression just now could have made me say these painful things.”
Roderick picked up a blade of long grass and began to bite it; Rowland was puzzled by his expression and manner. They seemed strangely cynical; there was something revolting in his deepening calmness. “I must have been hideous,” Roderick presently resumed.
“I am not talking for your entertainment,” said Rowland.
“Of course not. For my edification!” As Roderick said these words there was not a ray of warmth in his brilliant eye.
“I have spoken for my own relief,” Rowland went on, “and so that you need never again go so utterly astray as you have done this morning.”
“It has been a terrible mistake, then?” What his tone expressed was not willful mockery, but a kind of persistent irresponsibility which Rowland found equally exasperating. He answered nothing.
“And all this time,” Roderick continued, “you have been in love? Tell me the woman.”
Rowland felt an immense desire to give him a visible, palpable pang. “Her name is Mary Garland,” he said.
Apparently he succeeded. The surprise was great; Roderick colored as he had never done. “Mary Garland? Heaven forgive us!”