"He _says_ he is. But it seem to me we've got to persuade him out of
it."
"Why?"
"_Why_? Well, can't you see all the hundreds of reasons why?"
"I can see this," she answered quietly, "that he _will_ go, whatever we
do or say. Do you remember how--the night before last--I said I wished
some fate would send him back to her? ... Well, this is fate."
Her supreme calmness astonished me. I said that whether it was fate or
not, his going back could only have the result of turning bad into
worse. "Think of it, Mizzi--think of him meeting her for the first time
after those awful letters--and _preaching_ to her--that's what it'll
amount to--about her duty to her husband! ... She'll feel like killing
him."
"And if he stays here, he'll feel like killing himself."
"Not if you look after him."
"_I_ look after him? How can I?"
"There are ways."
She looked at me with tightened lips for a moment, and then said: "It is
what you call an irony--is it not?--that I should have understanding of
him but no power--while _she_--this woman in England--has power but no
understanding."
"But you _have_ power, Mizzi."
She shook her head, smiling. "As much as you have--as much as anybody
has, maybe, except _her_. You see, I understand him." She added, with no
change in the level calmness of her tone: "You will be surprised, no
doubt--when I tell you that last night he asked me to marry him."
I had to try to seem surprised, and I _was_ surprised, quite genuinely,
at her manner of telling me. She went on, almost casually: "I know why
he asked me to marry him. It was so that if I said 'yes,' he would feel
bound to _me_--and therefore less bound to her. He _wants_ to love me,
and he doesn't want to love her."
"I know he's very fond of you, Mizzi."
"Oh, yes, I daresay. But that is not quite good enough for me. I am a
business woman, and I do not think the bargain is fair unless he loves
me."
"You think he doesn't?"
"I am certain he doesn't."
"Why?"
"Firstly--because he tries so hard.... And then, also, there is another
reason. This morning, when I told him that I would not marry him, he was
glad."
"_Glad_? No--no----"
"He was. I could see the relief come into his eyes. His mind was full of
thoughts about his friends in England, and about the railway
accident--he really didn't want to bother about _me_. And when I refused
him he looked so grateful. He was glad because it made it easier for him
to go to England. He _does_ want to go to England. And I--all _I_ want
is for the best to happen--the best for _him_."
I told her frankly that I was disappointed, and that I thought she was
making a great mistake. She ought, I said, to have accepted him; he
would soon have come to love her afterwards.
"Or else to hate me," she said quietly.
"Oh, that's absurd, Mizzi."
"No, no. He cannot help loving _her_--maybe, some day, if we were
married, he could not help hating _me_. You see, I am cautious. I look
to the future."
"And you really think that the best future for him is that he should see
Helen?"
"I think the worst future is that he should stay here when all his body
and soul are craving to be away."
"But I can't understand why you are so willing to let him go."
She said then, with a half-ironical shrug of the shoulders: "Ah, that is
very hard to understand, I know. Maybe it is because I am selfish and
care nothing for these two people whom I have never seen--nothing at all
in comparison with _him_."
And that was as far as I could get with her. She had refused him, and
all the arguing in the world wouldn't convince her that she oughtn't to
have done, or me that she ought.