“Who belonged to every and any man as well as to him,” suggested Mr. George.
“Sylvia, then,” continued Mr. Wainbridge, “was very religious. She did not believe in marriage after divorce. Fairmouth could easily have got rid of his wife; but Sylvia was firm, so he left her and then went away. She probably sent him.”
“How terrible!” said Launa. “Could they not have met sometimes? Might not his love have been a comfort to her?”
“Moralists say not,” said Mr. Wainbridge.
“Such love cannot be real,” said Launa. “I used to think love was immortal.”
“It would be immortal,” said Mr. George. “Too pure for this earth.”
The two men looked at her.
“Almost thou persuadest me that such things can be,” said Mr. George.
“I have learned such a lot,” she said, “in London. Love is marriage and an end.”
“I am not going to murmur marriage to Sylvia,” said Mr. George. “I have left it out altogether in my new book, the difficulty was to dispose of my man and woman. I overcame that by saying, ‘The end is the usual one.’ To return to Sylvia. I am not afraid of a breach of promise, but nowadays marriage is labelled a ‘question,’ and the reviewers are so tired of it; they are all married. I fear I must leave you now, Miss Launa. Good-bye.”