"I have
never put limits to the connection, in my own mind--and
it hadn't occurred to me that you were doing so in yours."
"But I'm not," interposed Lady Cressage.
"Then I understand you less than ever. Why do you
talk about an 'interval'? What was the other word?--
'oasis'--as if this were a brief halt for refreshments and
a breathing-spell, and that presently you must wander forth
into the desert again. That suggestion is none of mine.
We agreed that we would live together--'pool our issues,'
as they say in America. I wanted a companion; so did you.
I have never for an instant regretted the arrangement.
Some of my own shortcomings in the matter I have regretted.
You were the most beautiful young woman I had ever seen,
and you were talented, and you seemed to like me--and I
promised myself that I would add cheerfulness and a gay spirit
to your other gifts--and in that I have failed wofully.
You're not happy. I see that only too clearly."
"I know--I'm a weariness and a bore to you," broke in
the other, despondingly.
"That is precisely what you're not," Celia went on.
"We mustn't use words of that sort. They don't describe
anything in our life at all. But I should be better
pleased with myself if I could really put my finger
on what it is that is worrying you. Even if we decided
to break up our establishment, I have told you that you
should not go back to what you regard as poverty.
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