“I gave her my word of honour that I would not.”
“Pooh!” said Miss Mason. “It is sometimes infinitely more honourable to break one’s word than to keep it. This is a case in point. Do you still care for your wife?”
Jasper hesitated. “I care for my memory of her as she was when I first married her—before the child died. I know after that at first I was disgusted. But that passed, especially later when I saw less of her. Then at the bottom of my heart I wanted to get back to the old footing. Somehow it seemed impossible. Before I saw her I felt I loved her, but the sight of her untidiness and the sordidness of the surroundings killed it. It would be killed again if I saw her now. It’s no use pretending otherwise.”
“Why don’t you take her out of her surroundings then?” asked Miss Mason.
Jasper looked up quickly. “It’s no use,” he said. “I love her now, but if I went down there the feeling would die away. When I see her slovenly and untidy it seems to kill my affection. I can’t help it. Even when I was a child I could not eat the food I most liked if it were served in a careless fashion. I have honestly tried to fight the feeling. It is, however, part of my physical nature, and I can’t rid myself of it.” Jasper’s voice was quite humble and genuine.
Miss Mason’s brain was working rapidly. “I suppose Chiswick is rather a commonplace neighbourhood,” she remarked. “Foolish of you to choose it in the first instance. Where did you say the house was?” The question was put indifferently.
Jasper mentioned the street and number. Miss Mason appeared hardly to have heard it. She seemed engrossed in her own thoughts.
Jasper stayed a little longer in the studio. It was, in a sense, a comfort to have spoken of the story, and yet it had brought the memory of the last seven years almost too vividly before his mind.
When he got up to go Miss Mason held out her hand.
“Good night,” she said. “Don’t feel too miserable. Things often turn out better than one expects.”