“No. It is the truth. She was made for kings' palaces and not for this sort of thing. I knew it was impossible from the first—but the joy and wonder of it all blinded my eyes. She gave me the immortal part of herself. It is mine for all eternity. I wrote to her a day or two ago—I was not able at first. I could not sleep, you know; something seemed to have gone wrong with my head.”
“You wrote to her?”
“To tell her not to be unhappy for my sake.”
“And you have forgiven her entirely?”
“Since our love is unchanged, how could I do otherwise?”
“But she has gone and thrown herself into the arms of another man—and such a man!” said Connie, brusquely. A quiver of pain passed over his face.
“Those are things of the flesh that the discipline of life teaches a man to subdue. I think I am man enough for that. The others are things of the spirit. If ever woman loved a man, she loved me. I thank God,” he added in a low voice, “that she realised the impossibility before we were married.”
“So do I; devoutly,” said Connie.
“It would have made all the difference.”
“Precisely,” said Connie.