She shrank back with a gesture of dismay. "I always expected to marry him!"
"It would have been just the same if you had married him."
"I don't understand you," she said faintly.
"From the beginning," he said, "you have thought only of self. You would not have been redeemed from self by gaining what would have made you more satisfied with yourself."
She thought about this for a few minutes in a heavy silence. "You mean, getting married would not have changed things, really?"
"It would have made the life you were living less harmful to your fellow creatures, perhaps; but it would have made no difference between you two."
"I thought I would be happier," she said.
"Happier!" said Dr. Lavendar; "what sort of happiness could there be in a marriage where the man could never respect the woman, and the woman could never trust the man!"
"I hadn't thought of it that way," she said slowly. And then she began again. … Once Dr. Lavendar interrupted her to light the lamp, for the study was dark except for the wink of red coals in the grate; and once he checked her, and went into the dining-room to bring her a glass of wine and some food. She protested, but he had his way, and she ate and drank before going on with her story. When she told him, brokenly, of Sam Wright, Dr. Lavendar got up and walked the length of the study. But he made no comment—none was needed. When she ended, there was a long pause. Suddenly she clasped her hands on the top of her head, and bowed her forehead almost to her knees. She seemed to speak as if to herself:
"Not worthy; not worthy."… Then aloud; "I give him up," she said.
And stretched out empty arms.