Married people -- Fiction; Short stories; Triangles (Interpersonal relations) -- Fiction
“Except in the trifling matter of ruining his son.”
“And there’s his poor old mother. He’s a good son, at any rate; he’d
never hurt her. And I know her. If I left him, she’d never take a penny
of my money. What she has of her own is not enough to live on; and how
could he provide for her? If I put him out of doors, I should be putting
his mother out too.”
“You could arrange that--there are always ways.”
“Not for her! She’s proud. And then she believes in him. Lots of people
believe in him, you know. It would kill her if she ever found out.”
Wrayford made an impatient movement. “It will kill you if you stay with
him to prevent her finding out.”
She laid her other hand on his. “Not while I have you.”
“Have me? In this way?”
“In any way.”
“My poor girl--poor child!”
“Unless you grow tired--unless your patience gives out.”
He was silent, and she went on insistently: “Don’t you suppose I’ve
thought of that too--foreseen it?”
“Well--and then?” he exclaimed.
“I’ve accepted that too.”
He dropped her hands with a despairing gesture. “Then, indeed, I waste
my breath!”
She made no answer, and for a time they sat silent again, a little
between them. At length he asked: “You’re not crying?”
“No.”
“I can’t see your face, it’s grown so dark.”
“Yes. The storm must be coming.” She made a motion as if to rise.
He drew close and put his arm about her. “Don’t leave me yet. You know I
must go to-morrow.” He broke off with a laugh. “I’m to break the news
to you to-morrow morning, by the way; I’m to take you out in the
motorlaunch and break it to you.” He dropped her hands and stood up.
“Good God! How can I go and leave you here with him?”
“You’ve done it often.”
“Yes; but each time it’s more damnable. And then I’ve always had a
hope--”
She rose also. “Give it up! Give it up!”
“You’ve none, then, yourself?”
She was silent, drawing the folds of her cloak about her.
“None--none?” he insisted.
He had to bend his head to hear her answer. “Only one!”
“What, my dearest? What?”
“Don’t touch me! That he may die!”
They drew apart again, hearing each other’s quick breathing through the
darkness.
“You wish that too?” he said.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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