“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.Bythistimehelovedherverymuch,andhecouldnotbeartobepuzzled.Hehadreachedlovebythespiritualpath:herthoughtsandhergoodnessandhernobilityhadmovedhimfirst,andnowherwholebodyandallitsgestureshadbecometransfiguredbythem.Thebeautiesthatarecalledobvious—thebeautiesofherhairandhervoiceandherlimbs—hehadnoticedtheselastGino,whonevertraversedanypathatall,hadcommendedthemdispassionatelytohisfriend.
Whywashesopuzzling?Hehadknownsomuchaboutheronce—whatshethought,howshefelt,thereasonsforheractions.Andnowheonlyknewthathelovedher,andalltheotherknowledgeseemedpassingfromhimjustasheneededitmost.WhywouldshenevercometoItalyagain?WhyhadsheavoidedhimselfandGinoeversincetheeveningthatshehadsavedtheirlives?Thetrainwasnearlyempty.Harrietslumberedinacompartmentbyherself.Hemustaskherthesequestionsnow,andhereturnedquicklytoherdownthecorridor.
Shegreetedhimwithaquestionofherown.“Areyourplansdecided?”
“Yes.Ican’tliveatSawston.”
“HaveyoutoldMrs.Herriton?”
“IwrotefromMonteriano.Itriedtoexplainthingsbutshewillneverunderstandme.Herviewwillbethattheaffairissettled—sadlysettledsincethebabyisdead.Stillit’soverourfamilycircleneedbe