“There have been one or two moments when I dared think she was beginning to love me,” I went on. “But I was reasoning from my hopes. She was alone. She was destitute—desperate. There was no one she could turn to, except myself. She knew that I had come to love her. And hurt and crushed as she was—with all the gratitude that the biggest heart I have ever known could—But what is the good of this! What fault there has been, is mine. She is a buoyant, vital thing, an artist, all spirit and fire. Even in her suffering I can see that. There have been glimpses, when we were working and she could forget for a moment. I am a quiet man, a man of the study, a narrow man.”
“Yes, you are narrow,” he put in.
“She must have variety. She must have stirring moments, strong reactions. She could not possibly be happy with me. And as for you, Crocker—well, we know about that. You are quite impossible. You thought you could possess her. Finding that you couldn't, you would kill her.”
He winced. I was glad to see it. I must make him wince. I must show him that he was not only a brute, but an absurd one.
He went over to the bureau and rummaged nervously in the top drawer. I could see, in the mirror, that his face was working, in the way it has when he is deeply stirred. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he came back to the table, and with a fair assumption of an offhand manner reached for the whisky bottle.
I snatched it away from him, sprang to the window, and threw it out, hard. I heard it break on the pavement below.
Then I turned and faced him, wondering, with a swift uprush of excitement, what he would do. I had taken him quite by surprise, which was a point for me. His great strength had not enabled him to keep that bottle.
His first expression was a sort of hurt bewilderment. He took a step toward me, but without any particular evidence of anger—more as if he meant to protest.
Next he turned, slowly and heavily, in the direction of the bell. This was over by the hall door. I ran toward it. A chair stood in the way, and I remember throwing it over in my rush. I had my back against the bell before he had got to the middle of the room.
He just stood there, trying to think. Then, abruptly, he turned back, dropped on the sofa, and buried his face in his hands.