“Are you sure of that?”
Her hands clinched as she answered: “Nothing could ever persuade me to go back to him. What would be the use of it? To begin it all over again? There would be no change; he couldn’t change, and I couldn’t—not as he would want me to. He’ll be miserable at first, but soon he’ll be all the better for my being away. He never loved me really; it’s only his work he loves.”
“Won’t he search for you?”
“I dare say. But he’d only preach again if he found me.”
“Did you—did you—care for him?”
“Love him? I thought I did when I married him, and didn’t know what he was. I was a girl then and knew nothing. Gradually I came to hate him. I couldn’t help it; you don’t know how heartlessly cruel a good man can be—they’re so utterly selfish. But don’t let’s waste time on what has been. When I shut the door there last night, I shut it on the past. Now—what am I to do now? Can you help me? Do you know of any work I could do? Or how I could get it?”
“Let me think,” he said, walking slowly up and down the room. “Why—why did you not keep your promise to come and see me at my studio?”
“I—can’t tell you.”
“Can’t tell me?” he said, surprised.
“No; please don’t ask me. I could make up an excuse—lie to you, but—I shouldn’t like to tell you even the most innocent fib. So please don’t ask. All I can tell you,” she said, looking up at him as he stood beside her, “is that I had a very good reason.”