Chance

I avoided looking at him. I knew well enough that he would not like this

opening. General ideas were not to his taste. He mistrusted them. I

lighted a cigarette, not that I wanted to smoke, but to give another

moment to the consideration of the advice--the diplomatic advice I had

made up my mind to bowl him over with. And I continued in subdued tones.

"I have been led to make these remarks by what I have discovered since

you left us. I suspected from the first. And now I am certain. What

your wife cannot tolerate in this affair is Miss de Barral being what she

is."

He made a movement, but I kept my eyes away from him and went on

steadily. "That is--her being a woman. I have some idea of Mrs. Fyne's

mental attitude towards society with its injustices, with its atrocious

or ridiculous conventions. As against them there is no audacity of

action your wife's mind refuses to sanction. The doctrine which I

imagine she stuffs into the pretty heads of your girl-guests is almost

vengeful. A sort of moral fire-and-sword doctrine. How far the lesson

is wise is not for me to say. I don't permit myself to judge. I seem to

see her very delightful disciples singeing themselves with the torches,

and cutting their fingers with the swords of Mrs. Fyne's furnishing."

"My wife holds her opinions very seriously," murmured Fyne suddenly.

"Yes. No doubt," I assented in a low voice as before. "But it is a mere

intellectual exercise. What I see is that in dealing with reality Mrs.

Fyne ceases to be tolerant. In other words, that she can't forgive Miss

de Barral for being a woman and behaving like a woman. And yet this is

not only reasonable and natural, but it is her only chance. A woman

against the world has no resources but in herself. Her only means of

action is to be what she is. You understand what I mean."

Fyne mumbled between his teeth that he understood. But he did not seem

interested. What he expected of me was to extricate him from a difficult

situation. I don't know how far credible this may sound, to less solemn

married couples, but to remain at variance with his wife seemed to him a

considerable incident. Almost a disaster.

"It looks as though I didn't care what happened to her brother," he said.

"And after all if anything . . . "

I became a little impatient but without raising my tone:

"What thing?" I asked. "The liability to get penal servitude is so far

like genius that it isn't hereditary. And what else can be objected to

the girl? All the energy of her deeper feelings, which she would use up

vainly in the danger and fatigue of a struggle with society may be turned

into devoted attachment to the man who offers her a way of escape from

what can be only a life of moral anguish. I don't mention the physical

difficulties."