Ayala's Angel [120]
when she thinks it necessary, as no man can do. Does it occur to you at this moment that there has been some true affection between you and me in former days?"
"I wish it did not."
"It may be so that I wish it also but there is the fact. No wishing will enable me to get rid of it. No wishing will save me from the memory of early dreams and sweet longings and vain triumphs. There is the remembrance of bright glory made very sad to me by the meanness of the existing truth. I do not say but that I would obliterate it if I could; but it is not to be obliterated; the past will not be made more pleasant to me by any pretence of present indignation. I should have thought that it would have been the same with you."
"There has been no glory," she said, "though I quite acknowledge the meanness."
"There has been at any rate some love."
"Misplaced. You had better let me pass on. I have, as you say, steeled myself. I will not condescend to any tenderness. In my brother's presence and my sister's I will wish you goodbye and express a hope that you may be successful in your enterprises. Here, by the brook-side, out upon the mountain path, where there is no one to hear us but our two selves, I will bid you no farewell softer than that already spoken. Go and do as you propose. You have my leave. When it shall have been done there shall never be a word spoken by me against it. But, when you ask me whether you are right, I will only say that I think you to be wrong. It may be that you owe nothing to me; but you owe something to her, and something also to yourself. Now, Mr Houston, I shall be glad to pass on."
He shrugged his shoulders and then stepped out of the path, thinking as he did so how ignorant he had been, after all that had passed, of much of the character of Imogene Docimer. It could not be, he had thought, but that she would melt into softness at last. "I will not condescend to any tenderness," she had said, and it seemed that she would be as good as her word. He then walked down before her in silence, and in silence they reached the inn. "Mr Houston," said Mrs Docimer, before they sat down to dinner together, "I thought it was understood that you and Imogene should not go out alone together again."
"I have taken my place to Innsbruck by the diligence this evening," he answered.
"Perhaps it will be better so, though both Mudbury and I will be sorry to lose your company."
"Yes, Mrs Docimer, I have taken my place. Your sister seemed to think that there would be great danger if I waited till tomorrow morning when I could have got a pleasant lift in a return carriage. I hate travelling at night and I hate diligences. I was quite prepared to post all the way, though it would have ruined me -- only for this accursed diligence."
"I am sorry you should be inconvenienced."
"It does not signify. What a man without a wife may suffer in that way never does signify. It's just fourteen hours. You wouldn't like Docimer to come with me."
"That's nonsense. You needn't go the whole way unless you like. You could sleep at Brunecken."
"Brunecken is only twelve miles, and it might be dangerous." "Of course you choose to turn everything into ridicule."
"Better that than tears, Mrs Docimer. What's the good of crying? I can't make myself an elder son. I can't endow Imogene with a hundred thousand pounds. She told me just now that I might earn my bread, but she knows that I can't. It's very sad. But what can be got by being melancholy?"
"At any rate you had better be away from her."
"I am going -- this evening. Shall I walk on, half a stage, at once, without any dinner? I wish you had heard the kind of things she said to me. You would not have thought that I had gone to walk with her for my own pleasure."
"Have you not deserved them?"
"I think not -- but nevertheless I bore them. A woman, of course, can say what she pleases. There's Docimer -- I hope he won't call me a coward."
Mr Docimer came out on the terrace, on which the two were standing, looking as sour as death. "He is
"I wish it did not."
"It may be so that I wish it also but there is the fact. No wishing will enable me to get rid of it. No wishing will save me from the memory of early dreams and sweet longings and vain triumphs. There is the remembrance of bright glory made very sad to me by the meanness of the existing truth. I do not say but that I would obliterate it if I could; but it is not to be obliterated; the past will not be made more pleasant to me by any pretence of present indignation. I should have thought that it would have been the same with you."
"There has been no glory," she said, "though I quite acknowledge the meanness."
"There has been at any rate some love."
"Misplaced. You had better let me pass on. I have, as you say, steeled myself. I will not condescend to any tenderness. In my brother's presence and my sister's I will wish you goodbye and express a hope that you may be successful in your enterprises. Here, by the brook-side, out upon the mountain path, where there is no one to hear us but our two selves, I will bid you no farewell softer than that already spoken. Go and do as you propose. You have my leave. When it shall have been done there shall never be a word spoken by me against it. But, when you ask me whether you are right, I will only say that I think you to be wrong. It may be that you owe nothing to me; but you owe something to her, and something also to yourself. Now, Mr Houston, I shall be glad to pass on."
He shrugged his shoulders and then stepped out of the path, thinking as he did so how ignorant he had been, after all that had passed, of much of the character of Imogene Docimer. It could not be, he had thought, but that she would melt into softness at last. "I will not condescend to any tenderness," she had said, and it seemed that she would be as good as her word. He then walked down before her in silence, and in silence they reached the inn. "Mr Houston," said Mrs Docimer, before they sat down to dinner together, "I thought it was understood that you and Imogene should not go out alone together again."
"I have taken my place to Innsbruck by the diligence this evening," he answered.
"Perhaps it will be better so, though both Mudbury and I will be sorry to lose your company."
"Yes, Mrs Docimer, I have taken my place. Your sister seemed to think that there would be great danger if I waited till tomorrow morning when I could have got a pleasant lift in a return carriage. I hate travelling at night and I hate diligences. I was quite prepared to post all the way, though it would have ruined me -- only for this accursed diligence."
"I am sorry you should be inconvenienced."
"It does not signify. What a man without a wife may suffer in that way never does signify. It's just fourteen hours. You wouldn't like Docimer to come with me."
"That's nonsense. You needn't go the whole way unless you like. You could sleep at Brunecken."
"Brunecken is only twelve miles, and it might be dangerous." "Of course you choose to turn everything into ridicule."
"Better that than tears, Mrs Docimer. What's the good of crying? I can't make myself an elder son. I can't endow Imogene with a hundred thousand pounds. She told me just now that I might earn my bread, but she knows that I can't. It's very sad. But what can be got by being melancholy?"
"At any rate you had better be away from her."
"I am going -- this evening. Shall I walk on, half a stage, at once, without any dinner? I wish you had heard the kind of things she said to me. You would not have thought that I had gone to walk with her for my own pleasure."
"Have you not deserved them?"
"I think not -- but nevertheless I bore them. A woman, of course, can say what she pleases. There's Docimer -- I hope he won't call me a coward."
Mr Docimer came out on the terrace, on which the two were standing, looking as sour as death. "He is