There's no doubt that I did something for the Thesigers in those ten days. I had effaced Jevons's legend. I had even effaced my own legend (for the scandal, if you remember, had begun with me). And the Thesigers were tackling their catastrophe with dignity and courage and, I think, considerable success. By having me there, by being charming to me, by presenting me openly and honourably to all their friends, they gave slander the most effective answer. People asked each other: Was it likely that the Thesigers would receive young Furnival with open arms if young Furnival had been the man they'd heard about?
At the end of my week the whole seven of them were almost merry. (I may say Norah, the youngest, had been merry all the time.) My visit lapped over into another week.
At the end of ten days my relations with Canon and Mrs. Thesiger became so intimate that we could discuss the situation. They could even smile when I reminded them that there was one good thing about it—Canterbury didn't, and couldn't, realize Jevons.
They hoped devoutly that it never would.
And they thought it wouldn't. By this time, poor darlings, they believed that I had saved them; that Jevons was an illness and that Viola had got over him; that I had cured Viola of Jevons.
I believed it myself. She had avoided me most of the time; she had left me to her sisters, particularly the youngest, Norah. And when I was alone with her she was silent and embarrassed. I thought: "She is beginning to be afraid of me. And that is an excellent sign."
The night before I left Canterbury I asked her, for the third time, to marry me.
She said, "I know why you're asking me, and it's dear of you. But it's no good. It can't be done. Not even that way."
V
The next day I went back to Bruges to release Jevons from his parole.