"To live there?" I was like an echo, repeating his phrases.
"In England. The property is there."
"Oh, Duncan," I cried, "do not torture me. Tell me what you mean."
"Come, come," he said, "don't be so excited. Do you want to be the only millionaire in the family? Bernard had an aunt married to an Englishman, who settled upon her a pretty little place in Cheshire. It was her own, and when early this winter she died she left it to Bernard. There is an income as well, and if Bernard wishes to live on the property they can be very comfortable. But you should have heard all this long ago."
"It is my own fault, Duncan."
"Then let them go. I do not want to talk of them. It is you for whom I care. I find you forsaken, poor, unhappy, and I do not understand it. I want you to tell me the whole story. Begin at the beginning, Janet."
"There is nothing to tell. You see that I am poor, but I have not said I was unhappy. I have not complained, Duncan."
"Oh, God!" And he groaned, and put his hand over his eyes. I was sorry to see him suffer, but what could I do? Every one suffers. It is the only real thing in existence. Everything else passes. It is only suffering that endures. I wished that his pain could numb him. I knew that this was the best that could happen.
"Do not care so much," I said, in feeble effort to console him. "Indeed, it is not worth while."
He half laughed as he drew his hand from his face with a gesture as though he was throwing something away. "Of course it is not worth while. I really do not believe you have human blood in your veins, Janet."
"Duncan!"
"Except for Juliet. To her you are fire. You are the tide, she the moon. You are the quicksilver, she the sunshine. To me you are ice, and I but the winter wind to freeze you tighter, harder. I am a fool!"
"Oh, Duncan," I besought him, "do not say anything of that! Be my good friend, but say no more. You are so mistaken. You do not care for me. Do not throw anything more on me. Indeed, indeed, I cannot bear any more."
"I do not mean to throw anything on you. All I ask is to take your burdens off you. God knows, Janet, that I do not want to care for you,—to love you,—that is the proper word,—to love you. What happiness has it ever brought me? What but a waiting and much trouble? I have had my fourteen years of service, and I have not won even Leah."
"Take Leah," I said. "Rachel is deceitful, scheming, false. You are happy in escaping her."
"Let us be done with trifling," he answered. "I repent deeply that I consented to leave you at the hotel where I heard that you were afterwards ill. Tell me exactly what happened."
"Nothing. I have nothing to tell."
