Chapter 10

“Hewillhavetomarryher,”saidPhilip.“Iheardfromhimthismorning,justasweleftMilan.Hefindshehasgonetoofartobackout.Itwouldbeexpensive.Idon’tknowhowmuchheminds—notasmuchaswesuppose,Ithink.Atalleventsthere’snotawordofblameintheletter.Idon’tbelieveheevenfeelsangry.Ineverwassocompletelyforgiven.Eversinceyoustoppedhimkillingme,ithasbeenavisionofperfectfriendship.Henursedme,heliedformeattheinquest,andatthefuneral,thoughhewascrying,youwouldhavethoughtitwasmysonwhohaddied.CertainlyIwastheonlypersonhehadtobekindtohewassodistressednottomakeHarriet’sacquaintance,andthathescarcelysawanythingofyou.Inhisletterhesayssoagain.” “Thankhim,please,whenyouwrite,”saidMissAbbott,“andgivehimmykindestregards.” “IndeedIwill.”Hewassurprisedthatshecouldslideawayfromthemansoeasily.Forhisownpart,hewasboundbytiesofalmostalarmingintimacy.Ginohadthesouthernknackoffriendship.IntheintervalsofbusinesshewouldpulloutPhilip’slife,turnitinsideout,remodelit,andadvisehimhowtouseitforthebest.Thesensationwaspleasant,forhewasakindaswellasaskilfuloperator.ButPhilipcameawayfeelingthathehadnotasecretcornerleft.InthatveryletterGinohadagainimploredhim,asarefugefromdomesticdifficulties,“tomarryMissAbbott,evenifherdowryissmall.”AndhowMissAbbottherself,aftersuchtragicintercourse,couldresumetheconventionsandsendcalmmessagesofesteem,wasmorethanhecouldunderstand. “Whenwillyouseehimagain?”sheasked.Theywerestandingtogetherinthecorridorofthetrain,slowlyascendingoutofItalytowardstheSanGothardtunnel. “Ihopenextspring.PerhapsweshallpaintSienaredforadayortwowithsomeofthenewwife’smoney.Itwasoneoftheargumentsformarryingher.” “Hehasnoheart,”shesaidseverely.“Hedoesnotreallymindaboutthechildatall.” “Noyou’rewrong.Hedoes.Heisunhappy,liketherestofus.Buthedoesn’ttrytokeepupappearancesaswedo.Heknowsthatthethingsthathavemadehimhappyoncewillprobablymakehimhappyagain—” “Hesaidhewouldneverbehappyagain.” “Inhispassion.Notwhenhewascalm.WeEnglishsayitwhenwearecalm—whenwedonotreallybelieveitanylonger.Ginoisnotashamedofinconsistency.ItisoneofthemanythingsIlikehimfor.” “YesIwaswrong.Thatisso.” “He’smuchmorehonestwithhimselfthanIam,”continuedPhilip,“andheishonestwithoutaneffortandwithoutpride.Butyou,MissAbbott,whataboutyou?WillyoubeinItalynextspring?” “No.” “I’msorry.Whenwillyoucomeback,doyouthink?” “Ithinknever.” “Forwhateverreason?”Hestaredatherasifsheweresomemonstrosity. “BecauseIunderstandtheplace.Thereisnoneed.” “UnderstandItaly!”heexclaimed. “Perfectly.” “Well,Idon’t.AndIdon’tunderstandyou,”hemurmuredtohimself,ashepacedawayfromherupthecorridor.Bythistimehelove