Місяць і гріш

Chapter XXXIII

           WhenBlanchequarrelledwithStricklandshehadonlytoleavehim,andherhusbandwaswaitinghumblytoforgiveandforget.Iwasnotpreparedtofeelanygreatsympathyforher.

           "Yousee,youdon’tloveher,"saidStroeve.

           "Afterall,there’snothingtoprovethatsheisunhappy.Forallweknowtheymayhavesettleddownintoamostdomesticcouple."

           Stroevegavemealookwithhiswoefuleyes.

           "Ofcourseitdoesn’tmuchmattertoyou,buttomeit’ssoserious,sointenselyserious."

           IwassorryifIhadseemedimpatientorflippant.

           "Willyoudosomethingforme?"askedStroeve.

           "Willingly."

           "WillyouwritetoBlancheforme?"

           "Whycan’tyouwriteyourself?"

           "I’vewrittenoverandoveragain.Ididn’texpecthertoanswer.Idon’tthinkshereadstheletters."

           "Youmakenoaccountoffemininecuriosity.Doyouthinkshecouldresist?"

           "Shecould—mine."

           Ilookedathimquickly.Heloweredhiseyes.Thatanswerofhisseemedtomestrangelyhumiliating.Hewasconsciousthatsheregardedhimwithanindifferencesoprofoundthatthesightofhishandwritingwouldhavenottheslightesteffectonher.

           "Doyoureallybelievethatshe’llevercomebacktoyou?"Iasked.

           "Iwanthertoknowthatiftheworstcomestotheworstshecancountonme.That’swhatIwantyoutotellher."

           Itookasheetofpaper.

           "Whatisitexactlyyouwishmetosay?"

           ThisiswhatIwrote:

           DEARMRS.STROEVE,Dirkwishesmetotellyouthatifatanytimeyouwanthimhewillbegratefulfortheopportunityofbeingofservicetoyou.Hehasnoill-feelingtowardsyouonaccountofanythingthathashappened

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