He waited, watching her curiously, and after a moment she broke out:
"I know this--the only times I've ever felt afraid--real fear--it was
on account of Laurence--when he was in danger."
"You didn't exactly want him, then, but you didn't want to lose him
either?... You wanted him in some way."
"Oh ... that's enough about that.... But I was talking about Nora. I
can see she thinks she'll be thrown out again. Any how she just hates
me."
"Well, naturally."
"But I tell you, I'm sorry for what I did. I'd like her to know it. But
I can't say anything to her. It seems, everything I could say would
sound--patronizing, or forgiving, or--wrong, anyway."
"Of course. You're in possession, you see. She knows it, and that she
hasn't got any real hold. You can't get around that. I don't see what
you can do about it."
"But, you see, she really gave up her life--first to my children, and
then.... She would have married and had children of her own."
"No doubt. She might yet. But not while Laurence is around. It's a real
passion on her side."
"Well--that's my doing. I mean, that it lasted as long as it did. It
was because I acted the way I did that he didn't break with her then."
"He'd have been glad to, many times since, I guess. She is as
jealous as the devil, and makes scenes about any shadow of a woman.
Naturally--she knows she hasn't got much of a hold on him, only he
feels responsible.... I don't really see, Mary, why you should have
made such a fuss about her.... It isn't as if he'd ever been in love
with her.... Why couldn't you let him have his humble handmaiden ... or
at any rate, not upset the whole apple-cart on account of it?"
"Oh, I know, you have no morality--hardly any man has. Anyhow it has
nothing to do with that.... I want to know what to do now."
"Well, I don't see what you can do."
They had spoken in calm neutral tones and now were silent again. Lavery
watched Mary; her face was intent, slightly frowning, baffled. He
reflected that she had a concrete sort of mind, abstract questions,
problems of character or conduct, did not interest her, she wanted to
"do something." And really now, what could she do about this situation?
"You see," he said slowly, "things are changed now. Your being
there--right there in the house--don't you see? I think, when he gets
well, Laurence will want to break away for good and all from there.
Of course she'd be looked after, materially, that's only right. And
she'd probably have a chance to settle in life, it would be better, in
the long run, for her.... I'm sort of taking it for granted," he added
gravely, "that you want Laurence back."
Mary's face was an expressionless mask; lowered eyelids hid her eyes.
"I guess you want him back, and you don't want any other woman round. I
sort of think you're human, after all."
"I'm afraid to say," she murmured.
"What? How?"
"I'm afraid.... It seems, I mustn't want anything now, I mustn't count
on anything.... I must try to do right, to make up what I can, in any
case, whether Laurence--" Suddenly she turned and cowered against
Lavery, hiding her face on his shoulder, clutching his arm. "I'm
afraid--I'm afraid!"
He sat silent and nodded his head slightly, looking blank, then became
cheerful, expostulated:
"Oh, I know we're not out of the woods yet--but, I say, you're not
going to pieces, are you, the first good day we've had, and me with
a wedding on my hands?... I say, this is unreasonable.... Poor girl,
you're tired out, I know ... but what d'ye suppose the coachman thinks?"
"As if I cared!" But she sat up and straightened her bonnet. "We'd
better go back now."
The sun was almost too warm on their bench.... And the water ... what a
blue, soft and cloudy, a heavenly colour.... The softness and warmth of
summer shed for a day over bare boughs and falling leaves....