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Chapter X. The Arrest
“Ithink—Iamsure—hecaredformeatfirst.ButIsupposewewerenotwellmatched.Almostatonce,wedriftedapart.He—itisnotapleasingthingformypride,butitisthetruth—tiredofmeverysoon.”Imusthavemadesomemurmurofdissent,forshewentonquickly:“Oh,yes,hedid!Notthatitmattersnow—nowthatwe’vecometothepartingoftheways.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
Sheansweredquietly:
“ImeanthatIamnotgoingtoremainatStyles.”
“YouandJohnarenotgoingtolivehere?”
“Johnmaylivehere,butIshallnot.”
“Youaregoingtoleavehim?”
“Yes.”
“Butwhy?”
Shepausedalongtime,andsaidatlast:
“Perhaps—becauseIwanttobe—free!”
And,asshespoke,Ihadasuddenvisionofbroadspaces,virgintractsofforests,untroddenlands—andarealizationofwhatfreedomwouldmeantosuchanatureasMaryCavendish.Iseemedtoseeherforamomentasshewas,aproudwildcreature,asuntamedbycivilizationassomeshybirdofthehills.Alittlecrybrokefromherlips:
“Youdon’tknow,youdon’tknow,howthishatefulplacehasbeenprisontome!”
“Iunderstand,”Isaid,“but—butdon’tdoanythingrash.”
“Oh,rash!”Hervoicemockedatmyprudence.
ThensuddenlyIsaidathingIcouldhavebittenoutmytonguefor:
“YouknowthatDr.Bauersteinhasbeenarrested?”
Aninstantcoldnesspassedlikeamaskoverherface,blottingoutallexpression.
“Johnwassokindastobreakthattomethismorning.
