How it was to be
accomplished, how endured, was more than she could realize, more than
the listless energy of her mind could grasp.
"I am leaving Cailsham almost immediately," she wrote that evening
to Grierson. "You will understand my reasons. I am sorry to have
caused you the pain that I did. As you realized, I tried to avoid
it. I am not presuming at all in my mind that you will ever wish to
see me again; but if your generosity should make you think that you
owe me any explanation of your silence this afternoon, please believe
me that I already understand it, expected it and sympathize from my
heart with the position in which I placed you. All that you said to
me before you knew, which, of course, I know you cannot think now,
I shall treasure in my mind as the opinions of a generous man which
were once believed of me. What I have told, or what I have left untold,
I know you will hold in your confidence. Good-bye."
Grierson read that letter the next morning in his bedroom. He sat
down on the bed, and read it through again; then he railed at women,
railed at life, railed at himself that such things should mean so
much.
A scene no less dramatic than this was being enacted over the
breakfast table at No.
Pages:
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494