"And why not?" he demanded. "Do you deny my right to follow her, and look after her, and see she comes to no harm, whatever she may think of me or do to me? I love her! Do you understand what that means? I love her! Gentlemen like you and Rendle, you don't know the meanin' of the word. With you it's just: 'Fine girl, what? Come and have supper at the Savoy to-night!' That's what you call love!" Brand's arms were waving: he was rapidly lapsing into his old Hyde Park manner. "When you've finished with one girl, or the girl's finished with you, what do you do? Kiss your 'and and get another! Bah!"
"And what do you do, Brand," enquired Philip imperturbably, "when a lady gives you up?"
"I give up my job: I give up everything, so as to be free; and I follow her. That's what I do. She's a child: she's not able to look after herself."
"Now, my impression of Miss Jennings's character," said Philip, "is exactly the opposite. I have rarely met a woman who seemed to me so well-balanced and self-possessed."
"Up to a point, and in a manner of speaking," agreed Brand, conversing more rationally now, "you are right. But that's a woman all over. She may keep her head for months at a time, and snap her fingers at man after man; and then one fine day a fellow comes along that's no better than fifty others she's turned down—and what does she do? She goes potty! She crumples up! She crawls round him and eats out of his hand! Why is it? In God's name, sir, why is it?"
His head dropped into his hands again.
"When did this happen?" asked Philip gently. He felt strangely awed in the presence of this elemental soul.
"I'll tell you," said Brand. "It'll do me good. She and I had been getting on pretty well of late. We weren't exactly engaged, but she allowed no other man near her but me. I gave up a lot to please her. I gave up speaking in the Park, because she said it wasn't gentlemanly. I joined the Church of England—me that's been a Freethinker ever since I could think! I gave up being a Socialist, because she said it was low. I cut my wings, and clamped myself down, and dressed myself up like a Guy Fawkes—all to please her. I let her order me about, and I liked it! I liked it! That's pretty degrading, ain't it? I felt degraded and in love at the same time, if you know what I mean. That's a rotten state to be in, I don't think!"
Philip was listening intently. Somewhere in the back of his mind he felt that he had heard this story before. Then he remembered Uncle Joseph, and realised that all human experience appears to run upon much the same lines.
"Well, we were happy enough," continued Brand, "for a matter of two years or so. The only trouble was that when I suggested marriage she said she was very comfortable as she was and did not want to lose her independence. (They're all for independence nowadays: I don't know what causes it: Board Schools, perhaps.) In her company I was too pleased with life ever to argue about anything, so I didn't press it. But there was one big risk that I overlooked, and that was the risk of another man butting in. And that's just what happened. A feller came along. He had everything that I hadn't—fine manners and plenty of silly talk, and nasty little love-making ways. He put the come-hither on Lil. As I told you in a fortnight she was eating out of his hand. I'm not the man to take that sort of thing lying down. I asked her straight what she meant by it. She flared up, and asked when I had been appointed her keeper. I said we was engaged. She said we was no such thing. I said if we wasn't it was about time, considering all things, that we was. She asked what I meant by that. I said if she had any sort of notion of fair play she would know. After that she told me she never wanted to see me again. I said she was only anticipating my own wishes; and we parted. We ain't spoke since. That was six weeks ago."