"It wasn't wise," I said. "But--never mind. You look so tired, my dear!"
She sat quite still for a little while.
Then she moved her arm as though she felt for me blindly, and I put my
arms about her and drew her head to my shoulder and she wept....
"I knew," she sobbed, "if I came to you...."
Presently her weeping was over.
"Get me a little cold water, Stephen," she said. "Let me have a little
cold water on my face. I've got my courage now again. Just then,--I was
down too low. Yes--cold water. Because I want to tell you--things you
will be glad to hear."
"You see, Stephen," she said--and now all her self-possession had
returned; "there mustn't be a divorce. I've thought it all out. And
there needn't be a divorce."
"Needn't be?"
"No."
"What do you mean?"
"I can stop it."
"But how?"
"I can stop it. I can manage---- I can make a bargain.... It's very
sweet, dear Stephen, to be here talking to you again."
She stood up.
"Sit at your desk, my dear," she said. "I'm all right now. That water
was good. How good cold things can be! Sit down at your desk and let me
sit here. And then I will talk to you. I've had such a time, my dear.
Ah!"
She paused and stuck her elbows on the desk and looked me in the eyes.
And suddenly that sweet, frank smile of hers swept like sunshine across
the wintry desolation of her face. "We've both been having a time," she
said. "This odd little world,--it's battered us with its fists. For such
a little. And we were both so ridiculously happy. Do you remember it,
the rocks and the sunshine and all those twisted and tangled little
plants? And how the boat leaked and you baled it out! And the parting,
and how you trudged up that winding path away from me! A grey figure
that stopped and waved--a little figure--such a virtuous figure! And
then, this storm! this _awful_ hullabaloo! Lawyers, curses, threats----.
And Stella Summersley Satchel like a Fury of denunciation. What hatred
that woman has hidden from me! It must have accumulated.... It's
terrible to think, Stephen, how much I must have tried her.... Oh! how
far away those Alps are now, Stephen! Like something in another life....
And here we are!--among the consequences."
"But,--you were saying we could stop the divorce."
"Yes. We can. I can. But I wanted to see you,--before I did. Somehow I
don't feel lonely with you. I had to see you.... It's good to see you."
She looked me in the face. Her tired eyes lit with a gleam of her former
humor.
"Have you thought," she asked, "of all that will happen if there is a
divorce?"
"I mean to fight every bit of it."
"They'll beat you."
"We'll see that."
"But they will. And then?"
"Why should one meet disaster half way?"
"Stephen!" she said; "what will happen to you when I am not here to make
you look at things? Because I shan't be here. Not within reach of
you.... There are times when I feel like a mother to you. Never more
than now...."
And then with rapid touches she began to picture the disaster before
me. She pictured the Court and our ineffectual denials, she made me
realize the storm of hostility that was bound to burst over us. "And
think of me," she said. "Stripped I shall be and outcast."
"Not while I live!"
"But what can you do for me? You will have Rachel. How can you stand by
me? You can't be cruel to Rachel. You know you can't be cruel to Rachel.
Look me in the face, Stephen; tell me. Yes.... Then how can you stand by
me?"
"Somehow!" I cried foolishly and stopped.
"They'll use me to break your back with costs and damages. There'll be
those children of yours to think of...."
"My God!" I cried aloud. "Why do you torment me? Haven't I thought
enough of those things?... Haven't I seen the ruin and the shame, the
hopeless trap, men's trust in me gone, my work scattered and ended
again, my children growing up to hear this and that exaggeration of our
story. And you----. All the bravery of your life scattered and wasted.
The thing will pursue us all, cling to us. It will be all the rest of
our lives for us...."