"Is your philosophy all culled from antique authors, sweet student? Have you never found time to peep into Darwin and assimilate the doctrine of the Survival of the Fittest?"
"What's that to do——?" she cried in bewilderment, not seeing at first any connection between her question and this answer. Yet even as she spoke came a sudden mental illumination of his meaning.
"Morris, you can't mean to say you really do prefer that vulgar, coarse-minded, spiteful, abandoned creature to—to——Oh Heaven!"
She brushed her hair roughly back from her forehead, and stared at him fixedly, her big eyes still full of incredulity. Then she uttered a brief laugh of mingled bitterness and disdain.
"But there! From a man's point of view, I suppose the Fittest always and only implies the Newest. Despicable wretches, the whole lot of you."
Morris, amused at this sweeping statement, smiled as he answered—
"But it's a little weakness that is no ways confined to mere man. It isn't only to us that constancy spells boredom. It's all very well for middle-aged women, who feel their power of pleasing on the wane, to cling like limpets. We expect it, and it's one reason why wise men avoid 'em. It always means beastly rows in the long run. But, thank goodness, at your time of life, my child, variety is charming, even to the fair sex."
The latter portion of these sentiments fell unheeded—practically unheard. All the girl's thoughts and senses were concentrated upon her own agony of spirit. Fully grasping now, for the very first time, that Morris's defection was serious and deliberate, all indignation and resentment were swamped by a wave of wild grief and horror before which all else broke down. When she could speak it was only in disjointed sentences, in a voice that quivered under stress of emotion and struggled with choking sobs.
"Oh, oh! Can I only bore you now by loving you? You can't mean that. Not really and truly. I can't have lost your love so utterly. What have I ever done? Oh, Morris, what have I done? I've never altered to you, and I never would. I would always be faithful to you—always. Is it a curse to have a faithful heart? I can't stop caring for you, because you tell me to; how—how can I? Are you really altogether tired of me? I knew men did get tired, easily, cruelly easily, but somehow——Perhaps if I'd been different? Oh, I did try! I did, always! I did! But there, I've been so utterly miserable lately, it's better really to know the truth straight out at once. Tell me the truth, Morris."
"But you know it, my dear."