“That would only make his journey after us longer. He’s a saint, which means one part of lunacy to nine parts of obstinacy. It’s this pig-headedness that makes them martyrs. Who was it said that a ‘martyr is a persecutor who has got the worst of it?’ Edward will persecute me until I give in, or he dies.”
“He shan’t!” Maddison interjected angrily.
“Oh, no, he shan’t indeed,” she continued, laughing, “because—I won’t let him. Now, while you two wise men of the West End have been talking, I’ve been thinking. Part of your plan fits in with mine. You must go away——”
“Not without you!”
“If not without me, you may as well stay here. Don’t you want me to be happy?”
“Of course I do. That’s the only want I have.”
“Then you must make me unhappy for a little while, so that I may be quite happy by and by. If you go down to Rottingdean alone, I’ll manage that Edward shall hear of it. He’ll watch you, find out that I’m not with you, and leave you alone. I’ll stay here; I shan’t bother to hide away; I don’t mind if he does find me out, and come to see me. I don’t think he’ll do it twice. Besides, obstinate as he is, he must have some pride somewhere, and some other woman may catch hold of him: I never believed the story St. Anthony told. And there’s this hope too: he may begin to think he’s neglecting his real work in hunting after me.”
“That’s what Mortimer thought.”
“Did he? Now—don’t you see that my way is the better?”
“It doesn’t make any difference. I won’t leave you.”