. . ."
Can you wonder that I shook my fist at Heaven and danced with rage?
". . . Miss Eleanor Faversham called on me just a few minutes after you
left me that afternoon. We had a long, long talk. Simon, dear, you must
marry her. You loved her once, for you were engaged, and only broke it
off because you thought you were going to die; and she loves you, Simon,
and she is a lady with all the refinement and education that I could
never have. She is of your class, dear, and understands you, and can
help you on, whereas I could only drag you down. I am not fit to black
her boots. . . ."
And so forth, and so forth, in the most heartrending strain of insensate
self-sacrifice and heroic self-abasement. The vainest and most heartless
dog of a man stands abashed and helpless before such things in a woman.
She had not seen or written to me because she would not have her
resolution weakened. After the great wrench, succeeding things were
easier. She had taken Anastasius's cats and proposed to work them in
the music-halls abroad and send the proceeds to be administered for the
little man's comfort at the Maison de Sante.
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