Long ago I touched lightly on the anomaly of Althea's
character--her mid-Victorian sentimentality and softness, combined
with her modern spirit of independence. A fatal anomaly; a
perilous balance of qualities. Once the soft sentimentality was
warmed into romantic passion, the modern spirit led it recklessly
to a modern conclusion.
The liaison was short-lived. The man was remorseful. He loved
another woman. Very quickly did the poor girl awaken from her
dream.
"I was cruel," said Boyce, fixing me with those awful black
spectacles, "I know it. I ought to have married her. But if I had
married her, I should have been more cruel. I should have hated
her. It would have been an impossible life for both of us. One day
I had to tell her so. Not brutally. In a normal state I think I am
as kind-hearted and gentle as most men. And I couldn't be brutal,
feeling an unutterable cur and craving her forgiveness. But I
wanted Betty and I swore that only one thing should keep me from
her."
"One thing?" I asked.
"The thing that didn't happen," said he.
And so it seemed that Althea accepted the inevitable. The placid,
fatalistic side of her nature asserted itself.
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