“I don’t think we ought to part,” she said.
“No—I don’t think we ought to part,” she repeated.
“One lives,” she said, “in different ways. I wonder if you will
understand what I am saying, Willie. It is hard to say what I feel. But
I want it said. If we are to part for ever I want it said—very plainly.
Always before I have had the woman’s instinct and the woman’s training
which makes one hide. But——— Edward is not all of me. Think of what I
am saying—Edward is not all of me. . . . I wish I could tell you better
how I see it. I am not all of myself. You, at any rate, are a part of
me and I cannot bear to leave you. And I cannot see why I should leave
you. There is a sort of blood link between us, Willie. We grew
together. We are in one another’s bones. I understand you. Now indeed I
understand. In some way I have come to an understanding at a stride.
Indeed I understand you and your dream. I want to help you.
Edward—Edward has no dreams. . . . It is dreadful to me, Willie, to
think we two are to part.”
“But we have settled that—part we must.”
“But _why?_”
“I love you.”
“Well, and why should I hide it Willie?—I love you. . . .” Our eyes
met. She flushed, she went on resolutely: “You are stupid. The whole
thing is stupid. I love you both.”