It took about an hour to extort a few meagre fragments of the truth.
Only a few, even then. I talked and questioned, and he answered and
sometimes didn't answer, and out of it all, very gradually indeed, there
came a very blurred picture of what _might_ have happened that night at
the End House.... It was obvious, of course, that Helen had persuaded
him not to go, and that he had given her a promise. He even admitted as
much in the end, in order that he could entrench himself on the much
stronger ground that he had pledged his word and must keep to it. He
_wasn't_ going to Vienna, he said again; that was final; and he didn't
see what there was to argue about.
I answered that there was a great deal to argue about. There was what
Severn would think, to begin with. Was he going to tell Severn that he
had cancelled the arrangement with Karelsky in order to please Helen?... He
replied doggedly, as before, that he couldn't help _what_ Severn
thought; he was grateful to him, but gratitude didn't and couldn't mean
going anywhere in the world he suggested. Besides, hadn't Severn urged
him to please himself?
Pleasing himself, I pointed out, was a far different thing from changing
his mind at the last minute. Then he said, with a touch of sharpness:
"Look here, I'm fed up with all this talk. I don't understand what
you're arguing about.... What's the game? Why are you so damned keen on
getting me sent off to Vienna?"
I told him that I wasn't keen at all, but rather the contrary, so far as
I personally was concerned. "It's just," I said, "that I don't want you
to make a hash of things."
"A _hash_ of things? What do you mean?"
His less passive attitude made it easier for me to come to the somewhat
delicate point. I asked him straightforwardly if he were going to
continue seeing Helen as much as he had been doing. The question seemed
to galvanize him into something like fierceness; he retorted instantly:
"Yes, just as much, and perhaps even more!"
We were both silent for a while, and I wondered hazily what I should
say, what arguments I could use, how the matter ought to be tackled. In
the end I began where the argument should have stopped; I said, almost
in desperation: "But, Terry--can't you see how--how utterly _impossible_
it is?"
"What is utterly impossible?"
"That you and Helen--should go on--as you are doing." I waited for him
to reply, and when he didn't, I continued: "Can't you see that when a
woman asks you--makes you promise--to put _her_ before your work....
Can't you see that her asking you _not_ to go to Vienna is just a
reason--an additional reason--why you _should_ go?"
He tried to see; I could see him trying to see; but what he saw was
something different--some strange and secret vision of his own. "You
don't understand," he said haltingly. "There's nothing I can say to make
you understand, either. You'd far better not worry about it....
Helen--in a sort of way--needs me--here, and I'm going to stay."
"She needs you?"
"Yes."
"How does she need you?"
He flashed back: "You're forcing me to say something that sounds
conceited. But it's true, all the same. She needs me because--because
I'm teaching her--I'm helping her to realize--that life isn't--just
money--and pleasure--and idleness!"
And there he was, revealed at last--in his own eyes the missionary, the
evangelist, converting her from frivolity to the true faith in Koch,
Kelvin, and Lister. There was pride and triumph in his voice, and,
looking back on it now, I believe that he was perfectly sincere. But at
the time it angered me; I lost my temper. "Damn it all," I cried, "I
_will_ tell you what I think, whether it offends you or not. You're
behaving like a fool--or else like a cad--I can't be quite certain
which.... Talk about _teaching_ her and _helping her to realize_--why
don't you tell the truth and admit that you're head over ears in love
with her? ... It's bad enough to play the fool with another man's wife,
but to talk highbrow bunkum about it seems to me pretty near the limit!"
He looked for a moment as if he were going to rush at me. But the
fierceness soon passed, and behind it was the half-truculent doggedness
of his earlier mood. "You don't understand," he said, after a pause. "I
couldn't expect you to understand. I don't know why I began telling you
anything about this at all...." Then he suddenly stood erect and wiped
the perspiration from his streaming forehead. "This heat!" he
cried, waving his arms. "Oh, for God's sake, let's get out of
it--anywhere--_anywhere_."