“D’you remember, Jack, the evening we were engaged? You walked about all night because you were afraid you might go to sleep and think it was a dream, and you scribbled a letter in pencil beneath a lamp-post, and put it into the letter-box so that I might have it at breakfast. I’ve got it yet—in tissue paper, to keep the pencil fresh.”
“Celia—don’t! You torture me. Of course I remember.”
“D’you remember that day up the river when we quarrelled, and I cried all over the tea? When I got home at night my face was all smudged. I’d been handling the kettle, and then dried my eyes, and you had never said a word about it, but had been so lovely to me all the way home. I did love you for that, Jack!”
“I had made you cry to start with. I’ve made you cry too often. Don’t cry for me now, Celia! I’m not worth it. You will be better without me.”
Then for the first time there came a flash of anger. She sat up suddenly and faced him with flashing eyes.
“How dare you say it? How dare you say such a lie? Without you? What would be left to me if you went? You are my life. There has been no room for anyone else; you have demanded everything for yourself,—all my care, all my thought, all interest, all my love,—and I have given them to you, till there is nothing left, and I am powerless to live alone. You know it is true!”
“You think so now, Celia, but you will find life easier without me. This hopeless waiting is hard on a woman, and I’ve drawn on you all these years, always asking, always needing. It’s a wrench, but it will be better for us both. Celia, I haven’t given you up without a struggle. I make no defence. I know I am treating you abominably, but this thing is stronger than myself. I cannot go on. I must go my own way.”
“I will never give you up!” said Celia firmly. She held out her left hand the third finger of which was encircled by the engagement ring, an inexpensive trifle in turquoise and pearls. “You put that ring there, and made me swear that it should never come off until the wedding-ring was put in its place. It never shall! It’s no use giving me back my promise. You don’t realise what you are asking. It is an impossibility. I can never believe that you seriously intend to marry another woman until I see her walking out of church on your arm. And then—”
“Then—”
“It would kill me, Jack. I could not live.”