“That does not stand in the way of my doing precisely what I insist that you shall do—give her up.”
“That's easy to say, Eckhart.”
“It is not easy to do, Crocker. But Heloise must go to Europe, and take up her study. Her gifts, her hopes, all lead her straight toward opera. Neither you nor I has the right to stop her. It is the instinct for expression, nothing else. You have followed that instinct freely in your own life and work. I have followed it freely in mine. Now let her do the same. Work—the sort of work that will give scope to his own peculiar sort of energy—is what every human being needs. It is, above all, what Heloise needs. It will be her salvation, if anything will. Can't you get that into your head? She doesn't need any application of the punitive frenzy that we men call justice. She does n't need the easy moralizing of men like you—and me. She needs work!... As regards my giving her up—she goes to Paris; I stay here in China for at least two years. If you can think of any way in which I can put more miles than that between us, tell me, and I'll promptly give up my own plans and do it.” And I snapped my finger.
Some of my phrases were over his head, I suppose. But he came back at me with a good deal of vigor, ignoring my intense mood:—
“You tell me you love her,” he said; “and you talk about giving her up. You don't mean to say that you think she is in love with you?”
This sobered me—suddenly. I felt my eyes drop, and the hot color coming back into my face.
The talk was turning on me in a way I had not precisely foreseen. But after all—it was only fair. Certainly I had shown no hesitation at exposing his hurt places. So I raised my eyes and looked squarely at him, knowing that, though it would be torture, I should tell him the truth as I had been coming to see it during these morning hours.
I shook my head.
“I should hope not!” he muttered.
I paid no heed to him. The thing now was to get the truth out and have it over with.