I did not pretend surprise; I knew he was going to 283 say it. Yet it enraged me that he should think it and say it.
“You are wrong,” I said, steadily.
“No, Scarlett; I am right.”
“You are wrong,” I repeated.
“Don’t say that again,” he retorted. “If you do not know it, you ought to. Don’t be unfair; don’t be cowardly. Face it, man! By Heaven, you’ve got to face it some time—here, yonder, abroad, on the ocean, at home—no matter where, you’ve got to face it some day and tell yourself the truth!”
His words hurt me for a moment; then, as I listened, that strange apathy once more began to creep over me. Was it really the truth he had told me? Was it? Well—and then? What meaning had it to me?... Of what help was it?... of what portent?... of what use?... What door did it unlock? Surely not the door I had closed upon myself so many years ago!
Something of my thoughts he may have divined as I stood brooding in the sunny tent, staring listlessly at my own shadow on the floor, for he laid his hand on my shoulder and said: “Surely, Scarlett, if happiness can be reborn in Paradise, it can be reborn here. I know you; I have known you for many years. And in all that time you have never fallen below my ideal!”
“What are you saying, Speed?” I asked, rousing from my lethargy to shake his hand from my shoulder.
“The truth. In all these years of intimacy, familiarity has never bred contempt in me; I am not your equal in anything; it does not hurt me to say so. I have watched you as a younger brother watches, lovingly, jealous yet proud of you, alert for a failing or a weakness which I never found—or, if I thought I found a flaw in you, knowing that it was but part of a character too strong, too generous for me to criticise.” 284
“Speed,” I said, astonished, “are you talking about me—about me—a mountebank—and a failure at that? You know I’m a failure—a nobody—” I hesitated, touched by his kindness. “Your loyalty to me is all I have. I wish it were true that I am such a man as you believe me to be.”