She whispered. “Your career?”
Then suddenly her face was contorted,--she wept silently, exactly as a
child tormented beyond endurance might suddenly weep....
“Oh! I don't care,” I cried, “now. I don't care. Damn the whole system
of things! Damn all this patching of the irrevocable! I want to take
care of you, Isabel! and have you with me.”
“I can't stand it,” she blubbered.
“You needn't stand it. I thought it was best for you.... I thought
indeed it was best for you. I thought even you wanted it like that.”
“Couldn't I live alone--as I meant to do?”
“No,” I said, “you couldn't. You're not strong enough. I've thought of
that; I've got to shelter you.”
“And I want you,” I went on. “I'm not strong enough--I can't stand life
without you.”
She stopped weeping, she made a great effort to control herself, and
looked at me steadfastly for a moment. “I was going to kill myself,” she
whispered. “I was going to kill myself quietly--somehow. I meant to wait
a bit and have an accident. I thought--you didn't understand. You were a
man, and couldn't understand....”
“People can't do as we thought we could do,” I said. “We've gone too far
together.”
“Yes,” she said, and I stared into her eyes.
“The horror of it,” she whispered. “The horror of being handed over.
It's just only begun to dawn upon me, seeing him now as I do. He tries
to be kind to me.... I didn't know. I felt adventurous before.... It
makes me feel like all the women in the world who have ever been owned
and subdued.... It's not that he isn't the best of men, it's because I'm
a part of you.... I can't go through with it. If I go through with it, I
shall be left--robbed of pride--outraged--a woman beaten....”
“I know,” I said, “I know.”
“I want to live alone.... I don't care for anything now but just escape.
If you can help me....”
“I must take you away. There's nothing for us but to go away together.”
“But your work,” she said; “your career! Margaret! Our promises!”
“We've made a mess of things, Isabel--or things have made a mess of us.
I don't know which. Our flags are in the mud, anyhow. It's too late
to save those other things! They have to go. You can't make terms with
defeat. I thought it was Margaret needed me most. But it's you. And I
need you. I didn't think of that either. I haven't a doubt left in the
world now. We've got to leave everything rather than leave each other.
I'm sure of it. Now we have gone so far. We've got to go right down to
earth and begin again.... Dear, I WANT disgrace with you....”
So I whispered to her as she sat crumpled together on the faded cushions
of the boat, this white and weary young woman who had been so valiant
and careless a girl. “I don't care,” I said. “I don't care for anything,
if I can save you out of the wreckage we have made together.”
4
The next day I went to the office of the BLUE WEEKLY in order to get as
much as possible of its affairs in working order before I left London
with Isabel. I just missed Shoesmith in the lower office. Upstairs I
found Britten amidst a pile of outside articles, methodically reading
the title of each and sometimes the first half-dozen lines, and either
dropping them in a growing heap on the floor for a clerk to return, or
putting them aside for consideration. I interrupted him, squatted on
the window-sill of the open window, and sketched out my ideas for the
session.
“You're far-sighted,” he remarked at something of mine which reached out
ahead.
“I like to see things prepared,” I answered.
“Yes,” he said, and ripped open the envelope of a fresh aspirant.