“As for us, Flint, we’ve got enough work of our own in this world. Take my advice and clear every idea of humanity out of your mind: stick to your curves and graphs and don’t think beyond them. If once you let your imagination stray over the real meaning of them—in toil and pain and death—you’ll never be able to carry on. I can’t help seeing it all; and that’s why I pin myself to the Curve there. I don’t want to look beyond it. I want to keep myself detached from all that as far as possible; for I can’t afford to be biased. It’s difficult; and in a few weeks more it will be still harder, when these unheard cries of agony go up in the South. But what can one do? I must shut my ears as best I can and go forward; or everything will fall to pieces and we shall save nothing out of the wreck. What a prospect, eh?
“Now, Flint,”—he sprang up—“off to work again, both of us. We can’t afford to waste time if we are to have an evening free from worry. I’ll see you at dinner.”
As I reached the door, he called me back and spoke low:
“By the way, Miss Huntingtower doesn’t know all our plans. Keep off the subject of the South. She hasn’t been told anything about that; and I want to keep it from her as long as I can. You understand?”
“Yes, if you wish it. But surely she must have some knowledge of the state of affairs. You can’t have managed to keep her in the dark about the whole thing?”
“It wasn’t difficult. She looks after certain special branches of my correspondence and so on; and nothing except actual Area business passes through her hands, so she has seen nothing beyond that. And once she finishes her work for the day I’ve made it a rule for her that she takes no further interest in the situation. I told her she must get her mind clear of it at night, or she would get stale and be no use to me. That was quite enough. She doesn’t even read the newspapers.”
“But what’s the use of keeping her in the dark? She is bound to know all about it soon enough.”
“There’s a great difference, Flint, between learning of a thing after it is irrevocable and hearing of it while there is time to protest against it. Once a catastrophe is over, it is over; and the shock is lighter than if one feels it coming and struggles against it. I don’t wish Miss Huntingtower to hear anything about the South until the whole thing is at an end down there. She’ll accept it then, since there is nothing else for it. I don’t wish her to be put in the position of feeling that she ought to do all she can to prevent its coming about. You understand?”