They stood under the great oak bobbing in front of them.
“Well,” said Philip at last, “that’s the end, Katie dear—your mother’s a wonderful woman.”
Katherine was silent. He went on:
“That was my last hope. I suppose I’d been counting on it more than I ought. You’d have come with me, I know, if they’d turned me out? Not a bit of it. Your mother’s a wonderful woman, I repeat.” He paused, looked into her eyes, seemed to be startled by the pain in them. “My dear, don’t mind. She only wants to keep you because she can’t get on without you—and I shall settle down all right in a bit. What a fuss, after all, we’ve been making.”
Katherine said: “Tell me, Phil, have there been times, lately, in the last week, when you’ve thought of running away, going back to Russia? Tell me honestly.”
“Yes,” he answered, “there have—many times. But I always waited to see how things turned out. And then to-day when the moment did come at last, I saw quite clearly that I couldn’t leave you ever—that anything was better than being without you—anything—So that’s settled.”
“And you’ve thought,” Katherine pursued steadily, “of what it will be after we’re married. Mother always wanting me. Your having to be in a place that you hate. And even if we went to live somewhere else, of Mother always keeping her hand on us, never letting go, never allowing you to be free, knowing about Anna—their all knowing—you’ve faced it all?”
“I’ve faced it all,” he answered, trying to laugh. “I can’t leave you, Katie, and that’s the truth. And if I’ve got to have your mother and the family as well, why, then, I’ve got to have them.... But, oh! my dear, how your mother despises me! Well, I suppose I am a weak young man! And I shall forget Russia in time.... I’ve got to!” he ended, almost under his breath.
She looked at him queerly.
“All right,” she said, “I know now what we’ve got to do.”