“Yes, yes, I can see all that. I know what I’ve got to face—but I don’t want to face it.”
“I was mentally marking time. If I knew what to suggest I would have told you at once. Let’s be practical; there are three parties to the business: you—she—he. The question is how to avoid you and she, or, at any rate, you, being brought into contact with him. Could you both go away for a while?”
“Easily.”
“In a time you and she would be safe. What would he do? Hunt after you—find that you had left town——”
“That’s all very well, but we can’t stay away forever.”
“Forever!” murmured Mortimer, gazing sadly up at the ceiling. “Easy! Easy! Leaving out of the question the possibility of your tiring of her—he can’t spend the rest of his life chasing after you. Even if he could, he wouldn’t. You don’t know the man as well as I do, although I’ve never met him. It’s love—fleshly love—as well as duty that’s urging him on now. Duty will regain the upper hand, and he’ll argue that he has no right to leave undone the work that is merely duty, in order to pursue duty plus personal interest. He’s actively engaged in trying to save one particularly attractive soul now; he’ll soon swerve round and work again on the multitude. As far as his wife is concerned, he’ll fall back upon the masterly inactivity of prayer. I may be quite wrong, but unless you can hit upon a better plan, I don’t see that you can do better than—hook it. I have spoken.”
“I’ve still got the cottage down at Rottingdean; we could run down for a month.”
“Where the stormy winds do blow! Poor, dear lady.”
“I can’t work in a racket.”
“Well, it’s as easy to leave as to go there. Three o’clock! by Jove, I must get back. I’ve some letters to sign, and I’m going down to West’s for dinner. She tells me you’re going to paint her portrait.”