"
"Well, when you returned, you were quiet and a little pale, and I
understood. The talk about Theo's wedding had put things into their
right places in your mind, silly old child, _pas_? And then you brought
her back here after the dance, and--all was well."
Joyselle stood quite still. He was bitterly ashamed of himself for
deceiving this dear, good woman, who was so innocently believing in him,
but he could say nothing. All was well, she said, when he came home that
evening after Brigit had come to him in the studio. Yes, but it was
because he knew then that she loved him; because his scruples were for
the time overwhelmed by the irresistible force of their passion for each
other; because the glory of the present blinded his eyes to any
visualising of the future.
That love, like everything else, must go through a series of
mathematically exact evolutions, Joyselle of course, in his present
frame of mind, could not realise. To him, as to every lover, the
happenings and exigencies of his situation seemed those of pure hazard,
and this phase, as he listened to his wife's interpretation of it,
appeared to him absolutely the result of a chance quarrel with Brigit.
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