came to her face。
“It would be a very good plan；” said Katharine in her
decided way。
“You think so？”
“Yes； because he would do something worth while； he
would write a book。 My father always says that he’s the
most remarkable of the young men who write for him。”
Mary bent low over the fire and stirred the coal between
the bars with a poker。 Katharine’s mention of Ralph
had roused within her an almost irresistible desire to
explain to her the true state of the case between herself
and Ralph。 She knew； from the tone of her voice； that in
speaking of Ralph she had no desire to probe Mary’s secrets；
or to insinuate any of her own。 Moreover； she liked
Katharine； she trusted her； she felt a respect for her。 The
first step of confidence was paratively simple； but a
further confidence had revealed itself； as Katharine spoke；
which was not so simple； and yet it impressed itself upon
her as a necessity； she must tell Katharine what it was
clear that she had no conception of—she must tell
Katharine that Ralph was in love with her。
“I don’t know what he means to do；” she said hurriedly；
seeking time against the pressure of her own conviction。
“I’ve not seen him since Christmas。”
Katharine reflected that this was odd； perhaps； after
all； she had misunderstood the position。 She was in the
habit of assuming； however； that she was rather unobservant
of the finer shades of feeling； and she noted her
present failure as another proof that she was a practical；
abstractminded person； better fitted to deal with figures
than with the feelings of men and women。 Anyhow；
William Rodney would say so。
“And now—” she said。
“Oh； please stay！” Mary exclaimed； putting out her hand
to stop her。 Directly Katharine moved she felt； inarticulately
and violently； that she could not bear to let her go。
If Katharine went； her only chance of speaking was lost；
her only chance of saying something tremendously important
was lost。 Half a dozen words were sufficient to
wake Katharine’s attention； and put flight and further
silence beyond her power。 But although the words came
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to her lips； her throat closed upon them and drove them
back。 After all； she considered； why should she speak？
Because it is right； her instinct told her； right to expose
oneself without reservations to other human beings。 She
flinched from the thought。 It asked too much of one already
stripped bare。 Something she must keep of her own。
But if she did keep something of her own？ Immediately
she figured an immured life； continuing for an immense
period； the same feelings living for ever； neither dwindling
nor changing within the ring of a thick stone wall。
The imagination of this loneliness frightened her； and
yet to speak—to lose her loneliness； for it had already
bee dear to her； was beyond her power。
Her hand went down to the hem of Katharine’s skirt；
and； fingering a line of fur； she bent her head as if to
examine it。
“I like this fur；” she said； “I like your clothes。 And you
mustn’t think that I’m going to marry Ralph；” she continued；
in the same tone； “because he doesn’t care for me at
all。 He cares for some one else。” Her head remained bent；
and her hand still rested upon the skirt。
“It’s a shabby old dress；” said Katharine； and the only
sign that Mary’s words had reached her was that she spoke
with a little jerk。
“You don’t mind my telling you that？” said Mary； raising
herself。
“No； no；” said Katharine； “but you’re mistaken； aren’t
you？” She was； in truth； horribly unfortable； dismayed；
indeed； disillusioned。 She disliked the turn things had
taken quite intensely。 The indecency of it afflicted her。
The suffering implied by the tone appalled her。 She looked
at Mary furtively； with eyes that were full of apprehension。
But if she had hoped to find that these words had
been spoken without understanding of their meaning；
she was at once disappointed。 Mary lay back in her chair；
frowning slightly； and looking； Katharine thought； as if
she had lived fifteen years or so in the space of a few
minutes。
“There are some things； don’t you think； that one can’t
be mistaken about？” Mary said； quietly and almost coldly。
“That is what puzzles me about this question of being in
love。 I’ve always prided myself upon being reasonable；”
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she added。 “I didn’t think I could have felt this—I mean
if the other person didn’t。 I was foolish。 I let myself
pretend。” Here she paused。 “For； you see； Katharine；” she
proceeded； rousing herself and speaking with greater
energy； “I am in love。 There’s no doubt about that… 。 I’m
tremendously in love … with Ralph。” The little forward
shake of her head； which shook a lock of hair； together
with her brighter color； gave her an appearance at once
proud and defiant。
Katharine thought to herself； “That’s how it feels then。”
She hesitated； with a feeling that it was not for her to
speak； and then said； in a low tone； “You’ve got that。”
“Yes；” said Mary； “I’ve got that。 One wouldn’t not be in
love… 。 But I didn’t mean to talk about that； I only
wanted you to know。 There’s another thing I want to tell
you …” She paused。 “I haven’t any authority from Ralph
to say it； but I’m sure of this—he’s in love with you。”
Katharine looked at her again； as if her first glance
must have been deluded； for； surely； there must be some
outward sign that Mary was talking in an excited； or bewildered；
or fantastic manner。 No； she still frowned； as if
she sought her way through the clauses of a difficult
argument； but she still looked more like one who reasons
than one who feels。
“That proves that you’re mistaken—utterly mistaken；”
said Katharine； speaking reasonably； too。 She had no need
to verify the mistake by a glance at her own recollections；
when the fact was so clearly stamped upon her
mind that if Ralph had any feeling towards her it was one
of critical hostility。 She did not give the matter another
thought； and Mary； now that she had stated the fact； did
not seek to prove it； but tried to explain to herself； rather
than to Katharine； her motives in making the statement。
She had nerved herself to do what some large and imperious
instinct demanded her doing； she had been swept
on the breast of a wave beyond her reckoning。
“I’ve told you；” she said； “because I want you to help
me。 I don’t want to be jealous of you。 And I am—I’m
fearfully jealous。 The only way； I thought； was to tell
you。”
She hesitated； and groped in her endeavor to make her
feelings clear to herself。
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“If I tell you； then we can talk； and when I’m jealous； I
can tell you。 And if I’m tempted to do something frightfully
mean； I can tell you； you could make me tell you。 I
find talking so difficult； but loneliness frightens me。 I
should shut it up in my mind。 Yes； that’s what I’m afraid
of。 Going about with something in my mind all my life
that never changes。 I find it so difficult to change。 When
I think a thing’s wrong I never stop thinking it wrong；
and Ralph was quite right； I see； when he said that there’s
no such thing as right and wrong； no such thing； I mean；
as judging people—”
“Ralph Denham said that？” said Katharine； with considerable
indignation。 In order to have produced such suffering
in Mary； it seemed to her that he must have behaved
with extreme callousness。 It seemed to her that he had
discarded the friendship； when it suited his convenience
to do so； with some falsely philosophical theory which
made his conduct all the worse。 She was going on to express
herself thus； had not Mary at once interrupted her。
“No； no；” she said； “you don’t understand。 If there’s
any fault it’s mine entirely； after all； if one chooses to
run risks—”
Her voice faltered into silence。 It was borne in upon
her how pletely in running her risk she had lost her
prize； lost it so entirely that she had no longer the right；
in talking of Ralph； to presume that her knowledge of
him supplanted all other knowledge。 She no longer pletely
possessed her love； since his share in it was doubtful；
and now； to make things yet more bitter； her clear
vision of the way to face life was rendered tremulous and
uncertain； because another was witness of it。 Feeling her
desire for the old unshared intimacy too great to be borne
without tears； she rose； walked to the farther end of the
room； held the curtains apart； and stood there mastered
for a moment。 The grief itself was not ignoble； the sting
of it lay in the fact that she had been led to this act of
treachery against herself。 Trapped； cheated； robbed； first
by Ralph and then by Katharine； she seemed all dissolved
in humiliation； and bereft of anything she could call her
own。 Tears of weakness welled up and rolled down her
cheeks。 But tears； at least； she could control； and would
this instant； and then； turning； she would face Katharine；