“But it’s worse for you than for me. I wish it were more equal.”
“How worse for me? I don’t understand. Unless”—with a brief, sad smile—“you love me less?”
“Ah, you know I don’t mean that! But I’ve only the separation to face. I’m not tied to somebody I don’t love. You’ve got Nesta to consider.”
“Nesta?” He gave a short, grim laugh. “Nesta can go back to where she came from.”
There was a long silence. At last Jean broke it.
“Blaise, you can’t do that—you can’t send her away again,” she said in quick, low tones. “She’s your wife.”
“My wife! She seems to have been oblivious of the fact—and to have wished me to be equally oblivious of it—for the last few years.”
“Yes, of course she’s been wrong, wickedly wrong. But that doesn’t alter the fact that she’s your responsibility, Blaise. You must take her back.”
“Take her back?”—violently. “I’ll be shot if I do! She’s chosen to live her life without me for the last few years—she can continue to do so.”
Jean laid her hand on his arm. She was smiling wistfully. “Dear, you’ll have to take her back,” she persisted gently. “Don’t you see—she’s not wholly to blame? You’ve admitted that. You’ve blamed yourself in a large measure for her running away. It’s up to you now to put things straight, to—to give her the chance she didn’t have before.”