"She's just going to have a second child," the Fürstin flung out.
Yes, that did astonish me. I suppose my face showed it.
"That girl," said the Fürstin, "that clean girl would have sooner
died--ten thousand deaths.... And she's never--never been anything to
you."
I think that for an instant she had been frightened at her own words.
She was now quite angry and short of breath. She had contrived a rapid
indignation against Mary and myself.
"I didn't know Mary had had any child at all," I said.
"This makes two," said the Fürstin, and held up a brace of fingers,
"with scarcely a year and a half between them. Not much more anyhow....
It was natural, I suppose. A natural female indecency. I don't blame
her. When a woman gives in she ought to do it thoroughly. But I don't
see that it leaves _you_ much scope for philandering, Stephen, does
it?... And there you are, and here is Rachel. And why don't you make a
clean job of your life?..."
"I didn't understand."
"I wonder what you imagined."
I reflected. "I wonder what I did. I suppose I thought of Mary--just as
I had left her--always."
I remained with my mind filled with confused images of Mary, memories,
astonishment....