“He laughed a little; you know how he laughs, not as though he were amused, but as though you were a damned fool, and said he’d go at once. He began to put his things together. You remember I fetched from his room what I thought he needed, and he asked Blanche for a piece of paper and some string to make a parcel.”
Stroeve stopped, gasping, and I thought he was going to faint. This was not at all the story I had expected him to tell me.
“She was very pale, but she brought the paper and the string. He didn’t say anything. He made the parcel and he whistled a tune. He took no notice of either of us. His eyes had an ironic smile in them. My heart was like lead. I was afraid something was going to happen, and I wished I hadn’t spoken. He looked round for his hat. Then she spoke:
“‘I’m going with Strickland, Dirk,’ she said. ‘I can’t live with you any more.’
“I tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Strickland didn’t say anything. He went on whistling as though it had nothing to do with him.”
Stroeve stopped again and mopped his face. I kept quite still. I believed him now, and I was astounded. But all the same I could not understand.
Then he told me, in a trembling voice, with the tears pouring down his cheeks, how he had gone up to her, trying to take her in his arms, but she had drawn away and begged him not to touch her. He implored her not to leave him. He told her how passionately he loved her, and reminded her of all the devotion he had lavished upon her. He spoke to her of the happiness of their life. He was not angry with her. He did not reproach her.
“Please let me go quietly, Dirk,” she said at last. “Don’t you understand that I love Strickland? Where he goes I shall go.”
“But you must know that he’ll never make you happy. For your own sake don’t go. You don’t know what you’ve got to look forward to.”
“It’s your fault. You insisted on his coming here.”