With the readiness of this realization, then, why had she told? Cry
the woman a fool! She was a fool. Most good women are. But just as
the matter is vital in the mind of a man, so is it in the woman the
crucial test of honour. A thousand reasons--her happiness--the
happiness of content,--the sheltering of her name, the sheltering
of her position, all the cared-for security of her life to
follow--these can be placed in the scale, weighty arguments against
that little drachm of abstract honour, to plead for her silence. A
thousand times she could have been justified in saying nothing; but
had she done so she would have been a different woman. Fine things
must be done sometimes; mean things will be done always. There are
men and women to do them both.
That no passion was in the heart of her may have been an aid to her
honesty. With passion to lift the scale on to the agate, there would
have been a deed worthy of eulogy then! But even as it was, she
sacrificed much; she sacrificed her all. For now she knew that she
must go; and there could he no more joy in life for her in the love
of little Maurice. To face that, she clutched her hands that
afternoon as she walked back into Cailsham.
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