of
giving in frightened her.

It frightened her chiefly because she possessed the capacity to do it.
In a way it would be easier to do it than not--easier to do it, and yet
impossible to go on with the new situation thus created after it was
done. It would mean being back in the old home and resuming the old
life; there would be what people called a reconciliation. Chip would be
coming and going and whistling tunelessly all over the house. And the
awful thing about it would be that he had it in him to be as happy as if
this horrible thing had never taken place--happier, doubtless, because
it would be behind him. He would not have understood; she would have
ceased trying to make him understand; he would have so little seen the
significance of his own acts as to feel free to do the same thing all
over again.

So the impulse to go back frightened her with a fear that paralyzed her
longing. If he had said but once: "Edith, I know I've sinned against
you; I know I've made you suffer; I've broken the contract between us;
I'm repentant; forgive me," it might have been different. But he had
said nothing of the kind. His letters, beseeching though they were, only
aggravated her complaint against him. "What else could I do?... The poor
thing clung to me.... As far as it affected my devotion to you it might
have happened in another phase of creation." That was the amazing part
of it, that he should expect her to be content with such an explanation,
that he should try to deprive her of a wife's last poor pitiful
privilege, a sense of indignity. She was not only to condone what he had
done, but as nearly as possible she was to give it her approval.

As to this aspect of the case she might not have been so clear if it
hadn't been for Aunt Emily. Aunt Emily was very clear. She was clear and
just, without being wholly unsympathetic toward Chip. That is, she
pointed out the fact that Chip did no more than most men would do. He
was no worse than the average. He might even be a little better. But,
according to Aunt Emily, the man didn't live who was worthy of a really
good woman's love. It was foolish for a really good woman to put herself
at the disadvantage of casting her pearls before--well, Aunt Emily was
too much of a lady to say what; it was all the more foolish considering
the quantity of feminine tag-rag and bobtail quite good enough to be
wives.

Edith couldn't deny that her aunt had kept herself on an enviably high
plane o