CHAPTER X

epositionofherhands,andinthefixedlookinhereyes.Andthenshethoughttoherself,“I’mbehavingexactlyasIsaidIwouldn’tbehave,”whereuponsherelaxedallhermusclesandsaid,inherreasonableway: “TellmewhatIoughttoread,then.” RalphhadunconsciouslybeenirritatedbyMary,andhenowdeliveredhimselfofafewnamesofgreatpoetswhichwerethetextforadiscourseupontheimperfectionofMary’scharacterandwayoflife. “Youlivewithyourinferiors,”hesaid,warmingunreasonably,asheknew,tohistext.“Andyougetintoagroovebecause,onthewhole,it’sratherapleasantgroove.Andyoutendtoforgetwhatyou’retherefor.You’vethefemininehabitofmakingmuchofdetails.Youdon’tseewhenthingsmatterandwhentheydon’t.Andthat’swhat’stheruinofalltheseorganizations.That’swhytheSuffragistshaveneverdoneanythingalltheseyears.What’sthepointofdrawing-roommeetingsandbazaars?Youwanttohaveideas,Marygetholdofsomethingbignevermindmakingmistakes,butdon’tniggle.Whydon’tyouthrowitallupforayear,andtravel?—seesomethingoftheworld.Don’tbecontenttolivewithhalfadozenpeopleinabackwaterallyourlife.Butyouwon’t,”heconcluded. “I’verathercometothatwayofthinkingmyself—aboutmyself,Imean,”saidMary,surprisinghimbyheracquiescence.“Ishouldliketogosomewherefaraway.” Foramomenttheywerebothsilent.Ralphthensaid: “Butlookhere,Mary,youhaven’tbeentakingthisseriously,haveyou?”Hisirritationwasspent,andthedepression,whichshecouldnotkeepoutofhervoice,madehimfeelsuddenlywithremorsethathehadbeenhurtingher. “Youwon’tgoaway,willyou?”heasked.Andasshesaidnothing,headded,“Ohno,don’tgoaway.” “Idon’tknowexactlywhatImeantodo,”shereplied.Shehoveredonthevergeofsomediscussionofherplans,butshereceivednoencouragement.Hefellintooneofhisqueersilences,whichseemedtoMary,inspiteofallherprecautions,tohavereferencetowhatshealsocouldnotpreventherselffromthinkingabout—theirfeelingforeachotherandtheirrelationship.Shefeltthatthetwolinesofthoughtboredtheirwayinlong,paralleltunnelswhichcameverycloseindeed,butneverranintoeachother. Whenhehadgone,andheleftherwithoutbreakinghissilencemorethanwasneededtowishhergoodnight,shesatonforatime,reviewingwhathehadsaid.Ifloveisadevastatingfirewhichmeltsthewholebeingintoonemountaintorrent,MarywasnomoreinlovewithDenhamthanshewasinlovewithherpokerorhertongs.Butprobablytheseextremepassionsareveryrare,andthestateofmindthusdepictedbelongstotheverylaststagesoflove,whenthepowertoresisthasbeeneatenaway,weekbyweekordaybyday.Likemostintelligentpeople,Marywassomethingofanegoist,totheextent,thatis,ofattachinggreatimportancetowhatshefelt,andshewasbynatureenoughofamoralisttoliketomakecertain,fromtimetotime,thatherfeelingswerecreditabletoher.WhenRalphlefthershethoughtoverherstateofmind,andcametotheconclusionthatitwouldbeagoodthingtolearnalanguage—sayItalianorGerman.Shethenwenttoadrawer,whichshehadtounlock,andtookfromitcertaindeeplyscoredmanuscriptpages.Shereadthemthrough,lookingupfromherreadingeverynowandthenandthinkingveryintentlyforafewsecondsaboutRalph.Shedidherbesttoverifyallthequalitiesinhimwhichgaverisetoemotionsinherandpersuadedherselfthatsheaccountedreasonablyforthemall.Thenshelookedbackagainathermanuscript,anddecidedthattowritegrammaticalEnglishproseisthehardestthingintheworld.ButshethoughtaboutherselfagreatdealmorethanshethoughtaboutgrammaticalEnglishproseoraboutRalphDenham,anditmaythereforebedisputedwhethershewasinlove,or,ifso,towhichbranchofthefamilyherpassionbelonged.