But, so far from being ready to drop into my mouth,
she is immovably and (to all appearances) contentedly fixed where she
is. I suppose I am insinuating that appearances are deceptive; that she
may be unhappy with her husband, and desire to leave him. Well, there
is no technical evidence in support of such an hypothesis; but, again, in
a matter of this kind, it is not so much the technical as the indirect
evidence that tells--the cadences of the voice, the breathing, the
silences, the atmosphere. There is no denying that I did somehow
acquire a vague impression that Courtney is not so large a figure in his
wife's eyes as he might be. I may have been biased by my previous
conception of his character, or I may have misinterpreted the impalpable,
indescribable signs that I remarked in her. But, once more, how do I
know that her not caring for him would postulate her caring for me? Why
should she care for either of us? Our old romance is to her as the memory
of something read in a book, and it is powerless to make her heart beat
one throb the faster. Were Courtney to die to-morrow, would his widow
expect me to marry her? Not she! She would settle down here quietly,
educate her daughter, and think better of her departed husband with
every year that passed, and less of repeating the experiment that made
her his! I may be prone to romantic and elaborate speculations, but I am
not exactly a fool.
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