"Say what you like. It will make no
difference. But please understand that I admit none of this."
Nick's grin leapt goblin-like across his face and was gone. "I never
expected it of you," he told her coolly. "You would sooner die than
admit it, simply because it would be infinitely easier for you to die.
You will be false to yourself, false to Grange, false to me, rather
than lower that miserable little rag of pride that made you jilt me
at Simla. I didn't blame you so much then. You were only a child.
You didn't understand. But that excuse won't serve you now. You are a
woman, and you know what Love is. You don't call it by its name, but
none the less you know it."
He paused for an instant, for Muriel had made a swift gesture of
protest.
"I don't think you know what you are saying," she said, her voice very
low.
He sprang abruptly to his feet. "Yes," he said, speaking very rapidly.
"That's how you will trick yourself to your dying day. It's a way
women have. But it doesn't help them. It won't help you. For that
thing in your heart--the thing that is fighting for air--the thing
you won't own--the thing that drove you to Grange for protection--will
never die. That is why you are miserable. You may do what you will to
it, hide it, smother it, trample it. But it will survive for all that.
Pages:
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307