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"Yes, I suppose I want to," she said.
"And is that the most you can do for me at present?" he asked.
That reached her again; all the time the plain words, the plain
face, the quiet of him stabbed her with daggers of which he had no
idea. She was dismayed at the recollection of her talk with her
brother the evening before, of the ease and certitude with which
she had laid down her conditions, of not giving up her career, of
remaining the famous Miss Falbe, of refusing to take a dishonoured
place in the sacred circle of the Combers. Now, when she was face
to face with his love, so ineloquently expressed, so radically a
part of him, she knew that there was nothing in the world, external
to him and her, that could enter into their reckonings; but into
their reckonings there had not entered the one thing essential.
She gave him sympathy, liking, friendliness, but she did not want
him with her blood. And though it was not humanly possible that
she could want him with more than that, it was not possible that
she could take him with less.
"Yes, that is the most I can do for you at present," she said.
Still quite quietly he moved away from her, so that he stood free
of her hands.
"I have been constantly here all these last months," he said. "Now
that you know what I have told you, do you want not to see me?"
That stabbed her again.
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"Have I implied that?" she asked.
"Not directly. But I can easily understand its being a bore to
you. I don't want to bore you. That would be a very stupid way of
trying to make you care for me. As I said, that is my job. I
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101
haven't accomplished it as yet. But I mean to. I only ask you for
a hint."
She understood her own feeling better than he. She understood at
least that she was dealing with things that were necessarily
incalculable.
"I can't give you a hint," she said. "I can't make any plans about
it. If you were a woman perhaps you would understand. Love is, or
it isn't. That is all I know about it."
But Michael persisted.
"I only know what you have taught me," he said. "But you must know
that."
In a flash she became aware that it would be impossible for her to
behave to Michael as she had behaved to him for several months
past. She could not any longer put a hand on his shoulder, beat
time with her fingers on his arm, knowing that the physical contact
meant nothing to her, and all--all to him. The rejection of him as
a lover rendered the sisterly attitude impossible. And not only
must she revise her conduct, but she must revise the mental
attitude of which it was the physical counterpart. Up till this
moment she had looked at the situation from her own side only, had
felt that no plans could be made, that the natural thing was to go
on as before, with the intimacy that she liked and the familiarity
that was the obvious expression of it. But now she began to see
the question from his side; she could not go on doing that which
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meant nothing particular to her, if that insouciance meant
something so very particular to him. She realised that if she had
loved him the touch of his hand, the proximity of his face would
have had significance for her, a significance that would have been
intolerable unless there was something mutual and secret between
them. It had seemed so easy, in anticipation, to tell him that he
must wait, so simple for him just--well, just to wait until she
could make up her mind. She believed, as she had told her brother,
that she cared for Michael, or as she had told him that she wanted
to--the two were to the girl's mind identical, though expressed to
each in the only terms that were possible--but until she came face
to face with the picture of the future, that to her wore the same
outline and colour as the past, she had not known the impossibility
of such a presentment. The desire of the lover on Michael's part
rendered unthinkable the sisterly attitude on hers. That her
instinct told her, but her reason revolted against it.
"Can't we go on as we were, Michael?" she said.
He looked at her incredulously.
"Oh, no, of course not that," he said.
She moved a step towards him.
"I can't think of you in any other way," she said, as if making an
appeal.
MICHAEL
102
He stood absolutely unresponsive. Something within him longed that
she should advance a step more, that he should again have the touch
of her hands on his shoulders, but another instinct stronger than
that made him revoke his desire, and if she had moved again he
would certainly have fallen back before her.
"It may seem ridiculous to you," he said, "since you do not care.
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But I can't do that. Does that seem absurd to you I? I am afraid
it does; but that is because you don't understand. By all means
let us be what they call excellent friends. But there are certain
little things which seem nothing to you, and they mean so much to
me. I can't explain; it's just the brotherly relation which I
can't stand. It's no use suggesting that we should be as we were
before--"
She understood well enough for his purposes.
"I see," she said.
Michael paused for a moment.
"I think I'll be going now," he said. "I am off to Ashbridge in
two days. Give Hermann my love, and a jolly Christmas to you both.
I'll let you know when I am back in town."
She had no reply to this; she saw its justice, and acquiesced.
"Good-bye, then," said Michael.
He walked home from Chelsea in that utterly blank and unfeeling
consciousness which almost invariably is the sequel of any event
that brings with it a change of attitude towards life generally.
Not for a moment did he tell himself that he had been awakened from
a dream, or abandon his conviction that his dream was to be made
real. The rare, quiet determination that had made him give up his
stereotyped mode of life in the summer and take to music was still
completely his, and, if anything, it had been reinforced by
Sylvia's emphatic statement that "she wanted to care." Only her [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]