"Yes, Anne, you would wonder that. But I am a doctor—not so much by profession as by instinct. I have to save—to heal where I can. Even then I might have failed in this instance and not found myself guilty. But he was your father—I wanted you to be happy—I think it—it inspired me to do more than I could otherwise have done."
"What did you expect—between us afterwards?" she persisted.
The smile lingered, but without its bitterness.
"Oh, I don't know, Anne—but something different from this. I knew that you'd be pained, even horrified—that was only natural. But I thought you knew me well enough to see the less ugly side. I had a foolish fancy even—that in such a crisis we might find each other—understand each other better. Well—I've been wrong all the way."
She was silent for a moment, gathering together the storm-scattered principles of her life. She was trying to be just, charitable, towards him. The tears glistened on her cheeks.
"I daresay you did mean to make me happy, Tris. But you see, you couldn't. One can't build up happiness on sin."
"I did not feel myself guilty—not in that way," he said gently.
"But you were guilty." Her voice hardened. "It was a crime to have struck a man down for the sake of a mongrel dog——"
He turned quickly. He felt mysteriously outraged, as though she had struck straight and deep into something vital in him.
"It wasn't only a dog, Anne," he said. "It was the pain—all the needless suffering——" He did not try to finish. He could not have explained, because he knew it was not in her power to understand. For the first time he saw all that separated them—not so much a gulf as a world, making her day his night. They were both silent. In a few minutes the superficial wrappings of their life had been torn off and its nakedness held them appalled.