The Three Sisters Part 82

Utterly weary of their strife, she lay back and closed her eyes.

"Poor Gwenda."

Again he had compa.s.sion on her. He waited.

"You see how it was," she said.

"It doesn't help us much, dear. What are we going to do?"

"Not what you want, Steven, I'm afraid."

"Not now. But some day. You'll see it differently when you've thought of it."

"Never. Never any day. I've had all these months to think of it and I can't see it differently yet."

"You _have_ thought of it?"

"Not like that."

"But you did think. You knew it would come to this."

"I tried not to make it come. Do you know why I tried? I don't think it was for Molly. It was for myself. It was because I wanted to keep you. That's why I shall never do what you want."

"But that's how you _would_ keep me. There's no other way."

She rose with a sudden gesture of her shoulders as if she shook off the obsession of him.

She stood leaning against the chimney-piece in the att.i.tude he knew, an att.i.tude of long-limbed, insolent, adolescent grace that gave her the advantage. Her eyes disdained their pathos. They looked at him with laughter under their dropped lids.

"How funny we are," she said, "when we know all the time we couldn't really do a caddish thing like that."

He smiled queerly.

"I suppose we couldn't."

He too rose and faced her.

"Do you know what this means?" he said. "It means that I've got to clear out of this."

"Oh, Steven----" The brave light in her face went out.

"You wouldn't go away and leave me?"

"G.o.d knows I don't want to leave you, Gwenda. But we can't go on like this. How can we?"

"I could."

"Well, I can't. That's what it means to me. That's what it means to a man. If we're going to be straight we simply mustn't see each other."

"Do you mean for always? That we're never to see each other again?"

"Yes, if it's to be any good."

"Steven, I can bear anything but that. It _can't_ mean that."

"I tell you it's what it means for me. There's no good talking about it. You've seen what I've been like tonight."

"This? This is nothing. You'll get over this. But think what it would mean to me."

"It would be hard, I know."

"Hard?"

"Not half so hard as this."

"But I can bear this. We've been so happy. We can be happy still."

"This isn't happiness."

"It's _my_ happiness. It's all I've got. It's all I've ever had."

"What is?"

"Seeing you. Or not even seeing you. Knowing you're there."

"Poor child. Does that make you happy?"

"Utterly happy. Always."

"I didn't know."

He stooped forward, hiding his face in his hands.

"You don't realise it. You've no idea what it'll mean to be boxed up in this place together, all our lives, with this between us."

"It's always been between us. We shall be no worse off. It may have been bad now and then, but conceive what it'll be like when you go."

"I suppose it would be pretty beastly for you if I did go."

"Would it be too awful for you if you stayed?"

He was a long time before he answered.

"Not if it really made you happier."

"Happier?"