hain nervously. "You have
been making friends with Mrs. Travis. Now, you are certainly quite
ignorant of her character. You don't know that she left home not long
ago."
Cecily asked in a low voice:
"And why didn't you tell me this before?"
"Because I don't choose to talk with you about such disagreeable
things."
"Then I begin to see what the difficulty is between us. It is not I who
idealize things, but you. Unless I am much mistaken, this is the common
error of husbands--of those who are at heart the best. They wish their
wives to remain children, as far as possible. Everything 'disagreeable'
must be shunned--and we know what the result often is. But I had
supposed all this time that you and I were on other terms. I thought
you regarded me as not quite the everyday woman. In some things it is
certain you do; why not in the most important of all? Knowing that I
was likely to see Mrs. Travis often, it was your duty to tell me what
you knew of her."
Elgar kept silence.
"Now let me give you another version of that story," Cecily continued.
"To-night she has been telling me about herself. She says that she left
home because her husband was unfaithful to her. I think the reason
quite sufficient, and I told her so. But there is something more. She
has again been driven away. She has come to live at Hampstead because
her home is intolerable, and she says that nothing will ever induce her
to return."
"And this has been the subject of your conversation as you drove back?
Then I think such an acquaintance is very unsatisfactory, and it must
come to an end."
"Please to tell me why you spoke just now as if Mrs. Travis were to
blame."
"I have heard that she was."
"Heard from whom?"
"That doesn't matter. There's a doubt about it, and she's no companion
for you."
"As you think it necessary to lay commands on me, I shall of course
obey you. But I believe Mrs. Travis is wronged by the rumours you have
heard; I believe she acted then, and has done now, just as it behoved
her to."
"And you have been encouraging her?"
"Yes, on the assumption that she told me the truth. She asked if she
might come and see me, and I told her to do so whenever she wished. I
needn't say that I shall write and withdraw this invitation."
Elgar hesitated before replying.
"I'm afraid you can't do that. You have tact enough to end the
acquaintance gradually."
"Indeed I have not, Reuben. I either condemn her or pity her; I
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