He bowed his head.
“I suppose I ought to have managed better,” she went on, musingly. “But—in the old days, when we married, I never looked upon you as a man to be ‘managed’ like the rest. It would have seemed to me like insulting you—an insult to the love I thought you had for me.”
“Yes,” said Robert, humbly, “I know. I’ve laid myself open to that reproach.”
She patted his hand softly.
“Marriage is a very difficult game to play, isn’t it?” she went on. “And do you know, Robin, I’ve come to the conclusion that to play it successfully the woman at least ought not to be in love. Then she can ‘manage.’ Then she can play skillfully, and find her success amusing. But suggest her methods to a girl in love, and she thinks them degrading.” She smiled sadly. “Love is a horrid little god to woman, Robin. He first robs her of her best weapon, her sense of humor, and then, as the only method of restoring it to her—flies out of the window.”
“Oh, Cis!” he sighed, “I’ve given you reason enough. But—I don’t offer it as an excuse, but do you know, I wonder, how difficult it is for a man——”
“To be what is called faithful?” she asked. “Yes, I think I do. And, if that were all, Robin—— It isn’t that exactly which shakes a woman’s trust to the depths, and changes the world for her. It’s what goes with it. The loss of all the other things at the same time. Her husband’s consideration, his tenderness, his friendship. That these should go too, when he’s ‘out of love,’ is what most women find so hard to bear—so incomprehensible.... You see, since I’ve been able to think dispassionately, I’ve tried to make it my case. Men say ‘women are so different.’ It’s a convenient phrase, but it isn’t true. You’d be surprised to find how many women are remarkably like men in every way. I’m one of them.” She paused. All at once she lived over again a moment in the fierce Roman sunshine. “I can imagine myself tempted as you were tempted,” she added, quietly.
“Tell me—what would you have done?” asked Robert, in a low voice.
“I think,” she said, rather huskily, “I should have remembered the great love we had when we were married—and all the dear little everyday things afterwards. I should have remembered that, at the bottom of my heart, you were more to me, just because of those little home things, than any other human being. I should”—her voice sank lower—“I should have remembered our child. Ah!”—she drew in her breath sharply—“but that’s different for me—I was her mother!” Robert laid his cheek against her hand. “Anyhow,” she went on presently, more calmly, “I would have fought with myself. I should have been so afraid the new love would pass, and that then, when it was gone, I might find I’d lost my first real treasure. But men never seem to think of that. Perhaps they are greater gamblers than women. I don’t know.” She shook her head quietly, her eyes looking far away.
“Cecily!” he implored. “Don’t say I’ve lost it. Oh, Cecily, love me again!”