He stood looking at her. He had no inkling that they were at cross
purposes because he was not a woman's man. Also because he was entirely
without conceit. It was only when he dreamed and a miracle happened,
that Beatrix returned his love. In her new state, which was so new that
she felt almost a stranger in the world, Beatrix was without conceit
too. She believed that Franklin, because she had seen the nobility of
his character out there in that strange mist, had outgrown the
attraction of her sex and had become brotherly. Some big moment was
needed to startle these two young people who were so much alike into the
truth,--these two who had always been handicapped by excessive wealth
and whose lives had touched in a manner that was so bizarre and
accidental. What if the big moment never came? Big moments are not put
in the way of everybody and even if they are, go by unrecognized in so
many instances.
"Yes," said Franklin, "we can't go on like this."
"You still think that the only way out is marriage?"
"I'm afraid so."
"And then divorce?"
"Yes."
Beatrix heaved a deep sigh. "I've asked so much of you. I couldn't ask
you for that."
"You don't have to ask me. It's my suggestion."
"You certainly are a sportsman," she said. And then she gave a little
gasp. "Good Heavens, what must I have been made of to have done that
thing? It seems incredible as I look at it now."
He spoke wistfully, eagerly. "Does it? Why? You're the same Beatrix.
You haven't changed."
"Are you the same Pelham Franklin? Haven't you changed? Let's be
honest out here to-night. This is the hour for honesty with the moon so
plain and the stars so gleaming and the sky so transparent. Besides, I
can't tell you why, but I have a sort of premonition that you and I are
going to be required to face another crisis. I got the feeling this
afternoon, when I was lying down. A bird was singing outside my window,
a curious, jerky little song, and it seemed to tell me that I must meet
something squarely and with courage."
"Courage?" said Franklin. "You have that."
"You think so?"
"I don't know it if you haven't got it."
"That's the first really nice thing you've ever said to me, Pelham."
It was a pity that she couldn't see the queer thing that happened to his
eyes. "I don't say everything I think," he said, with a sort of laugh.
"That's nothing to be proud of. There's lots of room for silence in the
grave. Let's go back." She was impatient again. She couldn't
understand why things were not going as she would have them go. They
always had.