"I didn't know," he muttered, "I've been to hell and back thinking of it."
"How did you suppose it would come out?" she asked, fascinated objectively by the drama of her life.
"I felt we were playing bean-bag with dynamite—and we ought to quit—made up my mind—while I was waiting for you this morning to tell you this must be the last time, because we were drifting straight into——" He paused.
"Into what?" There was a touch of gentlest irony in her tone.
"Into trouble, lots of it." There was a touch of apology in his.
"And you didn't want trouble, lots of it?" Her irony was not less. "At least not on my account?"
"I was thinking of what would be best for all of us. I was trying to do the square thing—the greatest happiness for the greatest number." There was a pause, unsympathetic. "Wasn't that right?" he ended with no great confidence.
"Why, of course, perfectly right," she assented heartily. "It shows consideration. You considered the case systematically from all sides. Yours, and mine, and my husband's, and the rest of the family's, and the rest of yours, too, I suppose, didn't you?" She looked extremely efficient and spoke in her business voice with a little snap to her words.
She was quite unfair in taking this tack with unhappy Stevens, who, however often he thought of his duty in these twisted premises, would surely not have done it if she beckoned him away. For she owned the only two hands in the world which he wanted to hold.
A woman, however, prefers to be the custodian of her own morals and it gratifies her at most no more than slightly to find that her lover has been plotting with himself to preserve her virtue. It is for the man to ask and for her to deny, sadly but sweetly—and she doesn't care to be anticipated. Especially when she is self-perceptibly interested.