“You must understand,” he said, “that, in my view, you are no wiser to put your body in a cage than your mind. Both must be free. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that a woman who breaks our law of property in one way is worse than the shop thief who breaks it in another. To wound the feelings of a good and generous man is a serious thing—but not to take bread when you are starving. At least, that is how I look at it. But—you must be very sure you are starving. Sincerity is the supreme virtue, and insincerity the only deadly sin.”
She nursed her cheek, while dreams showed themselves in her grave eyes. Whether she was pondering what he said or no, there’s no doubt she was giving it personal application again. Tristram was in her mind—her morose, exclusive lover. Was her friend giving a benediction to Tristram’s plain desires? What was she to do then? Was she to be possessed by Tristram—at last? Sincerity, he said, was all. Was she sincere? Could she ask—dared she? She knew that what he told her she should believe—Yes; and she juggled. She did not want to know what he would say—because she knew it already. Blame her as you will—that’s the fact.
Very woman that she was, she went about and about the thing she dared not—peering for the assurance of her fears. She looked softly at him as he sat there, plucking the grass by handfuls or making mounts of torn plantains—she looked wistfully. “You are my friend then—whatever happens to me?”
He met her melting eyes candidly. “Depend upon me.”
“Ah,” she said, “but I do! Well, then, I must do what seems to me best—I must be brave.” He smiled.
“Have your adventures, of course. Don’t be afraid of them. Be true to yourself, though—at every cost.”
“Yes, yes, I promise you that. . . . When shall I see you again?”
He gazed blankly at the sky. “I don’t know, really. I’m a wanderer, you know. But the Land’s End finds me from November to February mostly. I begin to work West about October. I am due in the North now—in the Lakes. Wastwater will find me—somewhere thereabouts. I shall be there till September. I leave London to-night—no, to-morrow—” Their eyes met again, without embarrassment. He was the only man she could have commerce with in this way. “I shall see you at Land’s End some day or other,” she told him. “When I’m wounded——”
“Caught in a wire by the foot,” he laughed. “All right—I’ll set you free.”
“But suppose you were in Berkshire when I was there—How should I know that you were there? Would you call at Southover?”