David knew little how he built on this. Without faith in Tom’s absolute fidelity to him Tom’s infidelities to himself and to the world must have been insufferable. But with this faith, all the rest of Tom—his excuses, his associates, his excesses—were urgent reasons why David could not turn from him, must come closer. Tom said: “You are my best friend. With you I am the truth.” This was the Law whereby David took him. All else Tom said, Tom did, was in its very contrast emphasis of the truth. All else could by it be redeemed and solved. Let the Law however not be shaken!
What if the Law was an invested fort he had at times to defend against misgivings? against Tom’s own behavior? Was he not full of an unuttered life that invested contradictions?
David’s contentment was unshakeable. It took to itself all hesitant things, made them over. He wanted to feel that with him as with Tom, the truth lay clearest in their lives together. How was he so different? In business? with Constance? He also had his sophistries and abdications. He took pride now in this kinship. It gave an added spell to the haven of their friendship where they withdrew from a falsetto world to the lone reach of the truth.
Soon David forgot the hushings altogether that were needed to create this haven. Subsided were his doubts with Tom, his blanchings when they drew close, the lack of visible background to their friendship. It was strange: their friendship was deep yet what vistas had it leading back to a common source, what forward avenues of life? It was full of fire, this friendship, yet where was its warmth? It was needful to him, yet what rest had he of it?
David who had sucked vision could forget....
XI
CONSTANCE BARDALE had left early that Spring for Europe. David could not say that he really missed her. He had great pleasure in looking back upon the reality of them together: a certain satisfaction in the prospect of her return in the Fall. He was not prompted to wish to hasten that return. He did not know if this was missing her.
He was like the warming weather. He had his days of retrogression, even of chill, when his mood was overcast and moist. But there was ever the underlying progress into Summer. All of him seemed opening. All of him was turned toward some generous source of energy within that made him fresh and green. He was resilient with growth. The squandaries of the world had no effect on this deep calm of his state. He moved in rhythm and with no jarring upward. Even so does a flower, despite the crust and the stone it must push through. The observer might have deemed him motionless: a poor observer who could have said the same thing of the flower.
He had said good-by to Constance naturally enough. That was the most delightful thing about her. She compelled candor.
She moved among hat-boxes and deranged chairs draped with flowing garments.