For fully a minute Pierson stood silent, before he said: “Forgive me if I've spoken harshly. I didn't mean to. I love her intensely; I wish for nothing but her good. But all my life I have believed that for a man there is only one woman—for a woman only one man.”
“Then, Sir,” Fort burst out, “you wish her—”
Pierson had put his hand up, as if to ward off a blow; and, angry though he was, Fort stopped.
“We are all made of flesh and blood,” he continued coldly, “and it seems to me that you think we aren't.”
“We have spirits too, Captain Fort.” The voice was suddenly so gentle that Fort's anger evaporated.
“I have a great respect for you, sir; but a greater love for Noel, and nothing in this world will prevent me trying to give my life to her.”
A smile quivered over Pierson's face. “If you try, then I can but pray that you will fail.”
Fort did not answer, and went out.
He walked slowly away from the bungalow, with his head down, sore, angry, and yet-relieved. He knew where he stood; nor did he feel that he had been worsted—those strictures had not touched him. Convicted of immorality, he remained conscious of private justifications, in a way that human beings have. Only one little corner of memory, unseen and uncriticised by his opponent, troubled him. He pardoned himself the rest; the one thing he did not pardon was the fact that he had known Noel before his liaison with Leila commenced; had even let Leila sweep him away on, an evening when he had been in Noel's company. For that he felt a real disgust with himself. And all the way back to the station he kept thinking: 'How could I? I deserve to lose her! Still, I shall try; but not now—not yet!' And, wearily enough, he took the train back to town.