“Yes,” he said, “so it seems.”
“It’s awful!” she cried. “Oh, how could he!”
He saw the way the news affected her, and he made an effort to control himself. “The man simply couldn’t face it,” he said. “He didn’t dare to trust himself. He ran.”
“But Thyrsis!” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe it! He’s given up his whole life-work!”
“He’s fled like Joseph,” said Thyrsis—“leaving his cloak in the hands of the temptress!”
And then, the strain proving too much for him, he began to laugh again. Becoming aware of the stares of some people on the street, he started up the horse, and drove on into the country, where he could be alone, and could give unrestrained expression to the emotions that possessed him.
He imagined the dismay and perplexity of the unhappy clergyman, with his belief in the sacred institution of marriage—and with the vision of Corydon pursuing him all day, and haunting his dreams at night. He imagined him trying to face the interview with the husband—with the terrible, conventionless husband, whose arguments could not be answered. “He simply couldn’t face me! He went the very morning I was coming!”
So he would laugh again; he would laugh until he was so weak that he had to lie back in his seat. “I can’t believe that it’s true!” he exclaimed. “My dear, I think it’s the funniest thing that ever happened since the world began!”
“But Thyrsis!” she protested. “Think what we’ve done to him! The man’s life is wrecked!”
“Nonsense!” said he. “It’s the best thing that could have happened to him. He might have gone on preaching sermons all his life—but now he’s got some ideas to work out. He’ll have time to read books, and to think.”