Титан

Aileen’s Last Card

           Idon’twanttolietoyou.Lifeistooshort.Factsarefacts.IfIcouldsayandbelievethatIlovedyouIwouldsaysonow,butIcan’t.Idon’tloveyou.WhyshouldIsaythatIdo?"

           InthecontentofAileen’snaturewasaportionthatwaspurelyhistrionic,aportionthatwaschildish—pettedandspoiled—aportionthatwassheerunreason,andaportionthatwassplendidemotion—deep,dark,involved.AtthisstatementofCowperwood’swhichseemedtothrowherbackonherselfforeverandevertobealone,shefirstpleadedwillingnesstocompromise—toshare.ShehadnotfoughtStephaniePlatow,shehadnotfoughtFlorenceCochrane,norCecilyHaguenin,norMrs.Hand,nor,indeed,anybodyafterRita,andshewouldfightnomore.ShehadnotspiedonhiminconnectionwithBerenice—shehadaccidentallymetthem.True,shehadgonewithothermen,but?Berenicewasbeautiful,sheadmittedit,butsowassheinherwaystill—alittle,still.Couldn’thefindaplaceforheryetinhislife?Wasn’tthereroomforboth?

           AtthisexpressionofhumiliationanddefeatCowperwoodwassad,sick,almostnauseated.Howcouldoneargue?Howmakeherunderstand?

           "Iwishitwerepossible,Aileen,"heconcluded,finallyandheavily,"butitisn’t."

           Allatonceshearose,hereyesredbutdry.

           "Youdon’tloveme,then,atall,doyou?Notabit?"

           "No,Aileen,Idon’t.Idon’tmeanbythatthatIdislikeyou.

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