“I've made a mistake,” said McGregor. “I've been going on and on making a mistake.” He turned to Margaret. “We didn't count on something here. There is Edith. She isn't what we thought.”
Edith said nothing. The weary stoop stayed in her shoulders. She felt that if McGregor had brought her to the house and to this woman he loved to seal their parting she would sit quietly until that was over and then go on to the loneliness she believed must be her portion.
To Margaret the coming of the man and woman was a portent of evil. She also was silent, expecting a shock. When her lover spoke she also looked at the floor. To herself she was saying, “He is going to take himself away and marry this other woman. I must be prepared to hear him say that.” In the doorway stood David. “He is going to give me back Margaret,” he thought, and his heart danced with happiness.
McGregor walked across the room and stood looking at the two women. His blue eyes were cold and filled with intense curiosity concerning them and himself. He wanted to test them and to test himself. “If I am clear-headed now I shall go on with the dream,” he thought. “If I fail in this I shall fail in everything.” Turning he took hold of the sleeve of David's coat and pulled him across the room so that the two men stood together. Then he looked hard at Margaret. As he talked to her he continued to stand thus with his hand on her father's arm. The action caught David's fancy and a thrill of admiration ran through him. “Here is a man,” he told himself.
“You thought Edith was ready to see us get married. Well she was. She is now and you see what it has done to her,” said McGregor.
The daughter of the ploughmaker started to speak. Her face was chalky white. McGregor threw up his hands.
“Wait,” he said, “a man and woman can't live together for years and then part like two men friends. Something gets into them to prevent. They find they love each other. I've found out that though I want you, I love Edith. She loves me. Look at her.”
Margaret half arose from her chair. McGregor went on. Into his voice came the harsh quality that made men fear and follow him. “Oh, we'll be married, Margaret and I,” he said; “her beauty has won me. I follow beauty. I want beautiful children. That is my right.”
He turned to Edith and stood staring at her.
“You and I could never have the feeling Margaret and I had when we looked into each other's eyes. We ached with it—each wanting the other. You are made to endure. You would get over anything and be cheerful after a while. You know that—don't you?”