V + 

The heat clung on far into the evening, penetrating with the darkness even the drawing-room where they satвБ†вАФSabine and John Pentland and old Mrs.¬†Soames and OliviaвБ†вАФplaying bridge for the last time, and as the evening wore on the game went more and more badly, with the old lady forgetting her cards and John Pentland being patient and Sabine sitting in a controlled and sardonic silence, with an expression on her face which said clearly, вАЬI can endure this for tonight because tomorrow I shall escape again into the lively world.вАЭ + 

Jean and Sybil sat for a time at the piano, and then fell to watching the bridge. No one spoke save to bid or to remind Mrs.¬†Soames that it was time for her shaking hands to distribute the cards about the table. Even OliviaвАЩs low, quiet voice sounded loud in the hot stillness of the old room. + 

At nine oвАЩclock Higgins appeared with a message for OliviaвБ†вАФthat Mr.¬†OвАЩHara was being detained in town and that if he could get away before ten he would come down and stop at Pentlands if the lights were still burning in the drawing-room. Otherwise he would not be down to ride in the morning. + 

Once during a pause in the game Sabine stirred herself to say, вАЬI havenвАЩt asked about AnsonвАЩs book. He must be near to the end.вАЭ + 

вАЬVery near,вАЭ said Olivia. вАЬThereвАЩs very little more to be done. Men are coming tomorrow to photograph the portraits. HeвАЩs using them to illustrate the book.вАЭ + 

At eleven, when they came to the end of a rubber, Sabine said, вАЬIвАЩm sorry, but I must stop. I must get up early tomorrow to see about the packing.вАЭ And turning to Jean she said, вАЬWill you drive me home? Perhaps Sybil will ride over with us for the air. You can bring her back.вАЭ + 

At the sound of her voice, Olivia wanted to cry out, вАЬNo, donвАЩt go. You mustnвАЩt leave me nowвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ alone. You mustnвАЩt go away like this!вАЭ But she managed to say quietly, in a voice which sounded far away, вАЬDonвАЩt stay too late, Sybil,вАЭ and mechanically, without knowing what she was doing, she began to put the cards back again in their boxes. + 

She saw that Sabine went out first, and then John Pentland and old Mrs.¬†Soames, and that Jean and Sybil remained behind until the others had gone, until John Pentland had helped the old lady gently into his motor and driven off with her. Then, looking up with a smile which somehow seemed to give her pain she said, вАЬWell?вАЭ + 

And Sybil, coming to her side, kissed her and said in a low voice, вАЬGoodbye, darling, for a little while.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I love you.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ And Jean kissed her in a shy fashion on both cheeks. + 

She could find nothing to say. She knew Sybil would come back, but she would be a different Sybil, a Sybil who was a woman, no longer the child who even at eighteen sometimes had the absurd trick of sitting on her motherвАЩs knee. And she was taking away with her something that until now had belonged to Olivia, something which she could never again claim. She could find nothing to say. She could only follow them to the door, from where she saw Sabine already sitting in the motor as if nothing in the least unusual were happening; and all the while she wanted to go with them, to run away anywhere at all. + 

Through a mist she saw them turning to wave to her as the motor drove off, to wave gaily and happily because they were at the beginning of life.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ She stood in the doorway to watch the motor-lights slipping away in silence down the lane and over the bridge through the blackness to the door of Brook Cottage. There was something about Brook CottageвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ something that was lacking from the air of Pentlands: it was where Toby Cane and Savina Pentland had had their wanton meetings. + 

In the still heat the sound of the distant surf came to her dimly across the marshes, and into her mind came absurdly words she had forgotten for yearsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ вАЬThe breaking waves dashed high on the stern and rockbound coast.вАЭ Against the accompaniment of the surf, the crickets and katydids (harbingers of autumn) kept up a fiddling and singing; and far away in the direction of Marblehead she watched the eye of a lighthouse winking and winking. She was aware of every sight and sound and odor of the breathless night. It might storm, she thought, before they got into Connecticut. They would be motoring all the night.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ + 

The lights of SabineвАЩs motor were moving again now, away from Brook Cottage, through OвАЩHaraвАЩs land, on and on in the direction of the turnpike. In the deep hollow by the river they disappeared for a moment and then were to be seen once more against the black mass of the hill crowned by the town burial-ground. And then abruptly they were gone, leaving only the sound of the surf and the music of the crickets and the distant, ironically winking lighthouse. + 

She kept seeing them side by side in the motor racing through the darkness, oblivious to all else in the world save their own happiness. Yes, something had gone away from her forever.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ She felt a terrible, passionate envy that was like a physical pain, and all at once she knew that she was terribly alone standing in the darkness before the door of the old house. + 

She was roused by the sound of AnsonвАЩs voice asking, вАЬIs that you, Olivia?вАЭ + 

вАЬYes.вАЭ + 

вАЬWhat are you doing out there?вАЭ + 

вАЬI came out for some air.вАЭ + 

вАЬWhereвАЩs Sybil?вАЭ + 

For a moment she did not answer, and then quite boldly she said, вАЬSheвАЩs ridden over with Jean to take Sabine home.вАЭ + 

вАЬYou know I donвАЩt approve of that.вАЭ He had come through the hall now and was standing near her. + 

вАЬIt canвАЩt do any harm.вАЭ + 

вАЬThatвАЩs been said before.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

вАЬWhy are you so suspicious, Anson, of your own child?вАЭ She had no desire to argue with him. She wanted only to be left in peace, to go away to her room and lie there alone in the darkness, for she knew now that Michael was not coming. + 

вАЬOlivia,вАЭ Anson was saying, вАЬcome inside for a moment. I want to talk to you.вАЭ + 

вАЬVery wellвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ but please donвАЩt be disagreeable. IвАЩm very tired.вАЭ + 

вАЬI shanвАЩt be disagreeable.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I only want to settle something.вАЭ + 

She knew then that he meant to be very disagreeable, and she told herself that she would not listen to him; she would think of something else while he was speakingвБ†вАФa trick she had learned long ago. In the drawing-room she sat quietly and waited for him to begin. Standing by the mantelpiece, he appeared more tired and yellow than usual. She knew that he had worked on his book; she knew that he had poured all his vitality, all his being, into it; but as she watched him her imagination again played her the old trick of showing her Michael standing there in his placeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ defiant, a little sulky, and filled with a slow, steady, inexhaustible force. + 

вАЬItвАЩs chiefly about Sybil,вАЭ he said. вАЬI want her to give up seeing this boy.вАЭ + 

вАЬDonвАЩt be a martinet, Anson. Nothing was ever gained by it.вАЭ + 

(She thought, вАЬThey must be almost to Salem by now.вАЭ) And aloud she added, вАЬYouвАЩre her father, Anson; why donвАЩt you speak?вАЭ + 

вАЬItвАЩs better for you. IвАЩve no influence with her.вАЭ + 

вАЬI have spoken,вАЭ she said, thinking bitterly that he could never guess what she meant. + 

вАЬAnd whatвАЩs the result? Look at her, going off at this hour of the night.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

She shrugged her shoulders, filled with a warm sense of having outwitted the enemy, for at the moment Anson seemed to her an enemy not only of herself, but of Jean and Sybil, of all that was young and alive in the world. + 

вАЬBesides,вАЭ he was saying, вАЬshe hasnвАЩt proper respect for meвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ her father. Sometimes I think itвАЩs the ideas she got from you and from going abroad to school.вАЭ + 

вАЬWhat a nasty thing to say! But if you want the truth, I think itвАЩs because youвАЩve never been a very good father. Sometimes IвАЩve thought you never wanted children. YouвАЩve never paid much attention to themвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ not even to JackвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ while he was alive. It wasnвАЩt ever as if they were our children. YouвАЩve always left them to meвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ alone.вАЭ + 

The thin neck stiffened a little and he said, вАЬThere are reasons for that. IвАЩm a busy man.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ IвАЩve given most of my time, not to making money, but to doing things to better the world in some way. If IвАЩve neglected my children itвАЩs been for a good reasonвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ few men have as much on their minds. And thereвАЩs been the book to take all my energies. YouвАЩre being unjust, Olivia. You never could see me as I am.вАЭ + 

вАЬPerhaps,вАЭ said Olivia. (She wanted to say, вАЬWhat difference does the book make to anyone in the world? Who cares whether it is written or not?вАЭ) She knew that she must keep up her deceit, so she said, вАЬYou neednвАЩt worry, because Sabine is going away tomorrow and Jean will go with her.вАЭ She sighed. вАЬAfter that your life wonвАЩt be disturbed any longer. Nothing in the least unusual is likely to happen.вАЭ + 

вАЬAnd thereвАЩs this other thing,вАЭ he said, вАЬthis disloyalty of yours to me and to all the family.вАЭ + 

Stiffening slightly, she asked, вАЬWhat can you mean by that?вАЭ + 

вАЬYou know what I mean.вАЭ + 

She saw that he was putting himself in the position of a wronged husband, assuming a martyrdom of the sort which Aunt Cassie practised so effectively. He meant to be a patient, well-meaning husband and to place her in the position of a shameful woman; and slowly, with a slow, heavy anger she resolved to circumvent his trick. + 

вАЬI think, Anson, that youвАЩre talking nonsense. I havenвАЩt been disloyal to anyone. Your father will tell you that.вАЭ + 

вАЬMy father was always weak where women are concerned and now heвАЩs beginning to grow childish. HeвАЩs so old that heвАЩs beginning to forgive and condone anything.вАЭ And then after a silence he said, вАЬThis OвАЩHara. IвАЩm not such a fool as you think, Olivia.вАЭ + 

For a long time neither of them said anything, and in the end it was Olivia who spoke, striking straight into the heart of the question. She said, вАЬAnson, would you consider letting me divorce you?вАЭ + 

The effect upon him was alarming. His face turned gray, and the long, thin, oversensitive hands began to tremble. She saw that she had touched him on the rawest of places, upon his immense sense of pride and dignity. It would be unbearable for him to believe that she would want to be rid of him in order to go to another man, especially to a man whom he professed to hold in contempt, a man who had the qualities which he himself did not possess. He could only see the request as a humiliation of his own precious dignity. + 

He managed to grin, trying to turn the request to mockery, and said, вАЬHave you lost your mind?вАЭ + 

вАЬNo, Anson, not for a moment. What I ask is a simple thing. It has been done before.вАЭ + 

He did not answer her at once, and began to move about the room in the deepest agitation, a strange figure curiously out of place in the midst of Horace PentlandвАЩs exotic, beautiful pictures and chairs and bibelotsвБ†вАФas wrong in such a setting as he had been right a month or two earlier among the museum of Pentland family relics. + 

вАЬNo,вАЭ he said again and again. вАЬWhat you ask is preposterous! Tomorrow when you are less tired you will see how ridiculous it is. NoвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I couldnвАЩt think of such a thing!вАЭ + 

She made an effort to speak quietly. вАЬIs it because you donвАЩt want to put yourself in such a position?вАЭ + 

вАЬIt has nothing to do with that. Why should you want a divorce? We are well off, content, comfortable, happy.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

She interrupted him, asking, вАЬAre we?вАЭ + 

вАЬWhat is it you expect, OliviaвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ to live always in a sort of romantic glow? WeвАЩre happier than most.вАЭ + 

вАЬNo,вАЭ she said slowly. вАЬI donвАЩt think happiness has ever meant much to you, Anson. Perhaps youвАЩre above such things as happiness and unhappiness. Perhaps youвАЩre more fortunate than most of us. I doubt if you have ever known happiness or unhappiness, for that matter. YouвАЩve been uncomfortable when people annoyed you and got in your way, butвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ thatвАЩs all. Nothing more than that. HappinessвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I mean it in the sensible wayвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ has sometimes to do with delight in living, and I donвАЩt think youвАЩve ever known that, even for a moment.вАЭ + 

He turned toward her saying, вАЬIвАЩve been an honest, God-fearing, conscientious man, and I think youвАЩre talking nonsense!вАЭ + 

вАЬNo, not for a moment.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Heaven knows I ought to know the truth of what IвАЩve been saying.вАЭ + 

Again they reached an impasse in the conversation and again they both remained silent, disturbed perhaps and uneasy in the consciousness that between them they had destroyed something which could never be restored; and yet with Olivia there was a cold, sustained sense of balance which came to her miraculously at such times. She felt, too, that she stood with her back against a wall, fighting. At last she said, вАЬI would even let you divorce meвБ†вАФif that would be easier for you. I donвАЩt mind putting myself in the wrong.вАЭ + 

Again he began to tremble. вАЬAre you trying to tell me that.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

вАЬIвАЩm not telling you anything. There hasnвАЩt been anything at allвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ butвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ but I would give you grounds if you would agree.вАЭ + 

He turned away from her in disgust. вАЬThat is even more impossible.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ A gentleman never divorces his wife.вАЭ + 

вАЬLetвАЩs leave the gentlemen out of it, Anson,вАЭ she said. вАЬIвАЩm weary of hearing what gentlemen do and do not do. I want you to act as yourself, as Anson Pentland, and not as you think you ought to act. LetвАЩs be honest. You know you married me only because you had to marry someoneвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and IвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I wasnвАЩt actually disreputable, even, as you remind me, if my father was shanty Irish. AndвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ letвАЩs be just too. I married you because I was alone and frightened and wanted to escape a horrible life with Aunt Alice.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I wanted a home. That was it, wasnвАЩt it? We are both guilty, but that doesnвАЩt change the reality in the least. No, I fancy you practised loving me through a sense of duty. You tried it as long as you could and you hated it always. Oh, IвАЩve known what was going on. IвАЩve been learning ever since I came to Pentlands for the first time.вАЭ + 

He was regarding her now with a fixed expression of horrid fascination; he was perhaps even dazed at the sound of her voice, slowly, resolutely, tearing aside all the veils of pretense which had made their life possible for so long. He kept mumbling, вАЬHow can you talk this way? How can you say such things?вАЭ + 

Slowly, terribly, she went on and on: вАЬWeвАЩre both guiltyвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and itвАЩs been a failure, from the very start. IвАЩve tried to do my best and perhaps sometimes IвАЩve failed. IвАЩve tried to be a good motherвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and now that Sybil is grown and JackвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ is dead, I want a chance at freedom. IвАЩm still young enough to want to live a little before it is too late.вАЭ + 

Between his teeth he said, вАЬDonвАЩt be a fool, Olivia.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ YouвАЩre forty years old.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

вАЬYou neednвАЩt remind me of that. Tomorrow I shall be forty. I know itвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ bitterly. But my being forty makes no difference to you. To you it would be all the same if I were seventy. But to me it makes a differenceвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ a great difference.вАЭ She waited a moment, and then said, вАЬThatвАЩs the truth, Anson; and itвАЩs the truth that interests me tonight. Let me be free, Anson.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Let me go while being free still means something.вАЭ + 

Perhaps if she had thrown herself at his feet in the attitude of a wretched, shameful woman, if she had made him feel strong and noble and heroic, she would have won; but it was a thing she could not do. She could only go on being coldly reasonable. + 

вАЬAnd you would give up all this?вАЭ he was saying. вАЬYouвАЩd leave Pentlands and all it stands for to marry this cheap IrishmanвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ a nobody, the son perhaps of an immigrant dock-laborer.вАЭ + 

вАЬHe is the son of a dock-laborer,вАЭ she answered quietly. вАЬAnd his mother was a housemaid. HeвАЩs told me so himself. And as to all this.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Why, Anson, it doesnвАЩt mean anything to meвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ nothing at all that I canвАЩt give up, nothing which means very much. IвАЩm fond of your father, Anson, and IвАЩm fond of you when you are yourself and not talking about what a gentleman would do. But IвАЩd give it all upвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ everythingвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ for the sake of this other thing.вАЭ + 

For a moment his lips moved silently and in agitation, as if it were impossible for him to answer things so preposterous as those his wife had just spoken. At last he was able to say, вАЬI think you must have lost your mind, OliviaвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ to even think of asking such a thing of me. YouвАЩve lived here long enough to know how impossible it is. Some of us must make a stand in a community. There has never been a scandal, or even a divorce, in the Pentland familyвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ never. WeвАЩve come to stand for something. Three hundred years of clean, moral living canвАЩt be dashed aside so easily.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ WeвАЩre in a position where others look up to us. CanвАЩt you see that? CanвАЩt you understand such a responsibility?вАЭ + 

For a moment she had a terrible, dizzy, intoxicating sense of power, of knowing that she held the means of destroying him and all this whited structure of pride and respectability. She had only to begin by saying, вАЬThere was Savina Pentland and her lover.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ The moment passed quickly and at once she knew that it was a thing she could not do. Instead, she murmured, вАЬAh, Anson, do you think the world really looks at us at all? Do you think it really cares what we do or donвАЩt do? You canвАЩt be as blind as that.вАЭ + 

вАЬIвАЩm not blindвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ only thereвАЩs such a thing as honor and tradition. We stand for something.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

She interrupted him. вАЬFor what?вАЭ + 

вАЬFor decency, for a glorious past, for stabilityвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ for endless thingsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ all the things which count in a civilized community.вАЭ + 

He really believed what he was saying; she knew that he must have believed it to have written all those thousands of dull, laborious words in glorification of the past. + 

He went on. вАЬNo, what you ask is impossible. You knew it before you asked.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ And it would be a kindness to me if you never mentioned it again.вАЭ + 

He was still pale, but he had gained control of himself and his hands no longer trembled; as he talked, as his sense of virtue mounted, he even grew eloquent, and his voice took on a shade of that unction which had always colored the voice of the Apostle to the Genteel and made of him a celebrated and fashionable cleric. Perhaps for the first time since his childhood, since the days when the red-haired little Sabine had mocked his curls and velvet suits, he felt himself a strong and powerful person. There was a kind of fierce intoxication in the knowledge of his power over Olivia. In his virtuous ardor he seemed for a moment to become a positive, almost admirable person. + 

At length she said quietly, вАЬAnd what if I should simply go awayвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ without bothering about a divorce?вАЭ + 

The remark shattered all his confidence once more; and she knew that she had struck at the weakest point in all his defenseвБ†вАФthe fear of a scandal. вАЬYou wouldnвАЩt do that!вАЭ he cried. вАЬYou couldnвАЩtвБ†вАФyou couldnвАЩt behave like a common prostitute!вАЭ + 

вАЬLoving one man is not behaving like a common prostitute.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I never loved any other.вАЭ + 

вАЬYou couldnвАЩt bring such a disgrace on Sybil, even if you donвАЩt care for the rest of us.вАЭ + 

(вАЬHe knew, then, that I couldnвАЩt do such a thing, that I havenвАЩt the courage. He knows that IвАЩve lived too long in this world.вАЭ) Aloud she said, вАЬYou donвАЩt know me, Anson.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ In all these years youвАЩve never known me at all.вАЭ + 

вАЬBesides,вАЭ he added quickly, вАЬhe wouldnвАЩt do such a thing. Such a climber isnвАЩt likely to throw over his whole career by running away with a woman. YouвАЩd find out if you asked him.вАЭ + 

вАЬBut he is willing. HeвАЩs already told me so. Perhaps you canвАЩt understand such a thing.вАЭ When he did not answer, she said ironically, вАЬBesides, I donвАЩt think a gentleman would talk as you are talking. No, Anson.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I donвАЩt think you know what the world is. YouвАЩve lived here always, shut up in your own little corner.вАЭ Rising, she sighed and murmured, вАЬBut thereвАЩs no use in talk. I am going to bed.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I suppose we must struggle on as best we canвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ but there are timesвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ times like tonight when you make it hard for me to bear it. Some dayвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ who knowsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ thereвАЩs nothing any longer to keep me.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

She went away without troubling to finish what she had meant to say, lost again in an overwhelming sense of the futility of everything. She felt, she thought, like an idiot standing in the middle of an empty field, making gestures. + 