"I'm a married man. And my wife won't live with me for reasons that I think most women would consider sound. . . . Or I should have made love to you long ago."There came a silence again.
"I don't care," said Ann Veronica.
"But if you knew anything of that--"
"I did. It doesn't matter."
"Why did you tell me? I thought--I thought we were going to be friends."He was suddenly resentful. He seemed to charge her with the ruin of their situation. "Why on earth did you TELL me?" he cried.
"I couldn't help it. It was an impulse. I HAD to.""But it changes things. I thought you understood.""I had to," she repeated. "I was sick of the make-believe. Idon't care! I'm glad I did. I'm glad I did.""Look here!" said Capes, "what on earth do you want? What do you think we can do? Don't you know what men are, and what life is?--to come to me and talk to me like this!""I know--something, anyhow. But I don't care; I haven't a spark of shame. I don't see any good in life if it hasn't got you in it. I wanted you to know. And now you know. And the fences are down for good. You can't look me in the eyes and say you don't care for me.""I've told you," he said.
"Very well," said Ann Veronica, with an air of concluding the discussion.
They walked side by side for a time.
"In that laboratory one gets to disregard these passions," began Capes. "Men are curious animals, with a trick of falling in love readily with girls about your age. One has to train one's self not to. I've accustomed myself to think of you--as if you were like every other girl who works at the schools--as something quite outside these possibilities. If only out of loyalty to co-education one has to do that. Apart from everything else, this meeting of ours is a breach of a good rule.""Rules are for every day," said Ann Veronica. "This is not every day. This is something above all rules.""For you."
"Not for you?"
"No. No; I'm going to stick to the rules. . . . It's odd, but nothing but cliche seems to meet this case. You've placed me in a very exceptional position, Miss Stanley." The note of his own voice exasperated him. "Oh, damn!" he said.
She made no answer, and for a time he debated some problems with himself.
"No!" he said aloud at last.
"The plain common-sense of the case," he said, "is that we can't possibly be lovers in the ordinary sense. That, I think, is manifest. You know, I've done no work at all this afternoon.
I've been smoking cigarettes in the preparation-room and thinking this out. We can't be lovers in the ordinary sense, but we can be great and intimate friends.""We are," said Ann Veronica.
"You've interested me enormously. . . ."
He paused with a sense of ineptitude. "I want to be your friend," he said. "I said that at the Zoo, and I mean it. Let us be friends--as near and close as friends can be."Ann Veronica gave him a pallid profile.
"What is the good of pretending?" she said.
"We don't pretend."
"We do. Love is one thing and friendship quite another. Because I'm younger than you. . . . I've got imagination. . . . I know what I am talking about. Mr. Capes, do you think . . . do you think I don't know the meaning of love?"Part 4
Capes made no answer for a time.
"My mind is full of confused stuff," he said at length. "I've been thinking--all the afternoon. Oh, and weeks and months of thought and feeling there are bottled up too. . . . I feel a mixture of beast and uncle. I feel like a fraudulent trustee.
Every rule is against me-- Why did I let you begin this? I might have told--""I don't see that you could help--"
"I might have helped--"
"You couldn't."
"I ought to have--all the same.
"I wonder," he said, and went off at a tangent. "You know about my scandalous past?""Very little. It doesn't seem to matter. Does it?""I think it does. Profoundly."
"How?"
"It prevents our marrying. It forbids--all sorts of things.""It can't prevent our loving."
"I'm afraid it can't. But, by Jove! it's going to make our loving a fiercely abstract thing.""You are separated from your wife?"
"Yes, but do you know how?"
"Not exactly."
"Why on earth--? A man ought to be labelled. You see, I'm separated from my wife. But she doesn't and won't divorce me.
You don't understand the fix I am in. And you don't know what led to our separation. And, in fact, all round the problem you don't know and I don't see how I could possibly have told you before. I wanted to, that day in the Zoo. But I trusted to that ring of yours.""Poor old ring!" said Ann Veronica.
"I ought never have gone to the Zoo, I suppose. I asked you to go. But a man is a mixed creature. . . . I wanted the time with you. I wanted it badly.""Tell me about yourself," said Ann Veronica.
"To begin with, I was--I was in the divorce court. I was--I was a co-respondent. You understand that term?"Ann Veronica smiled faintly. "A modern girl does understand these terms. She reads novels--and history --and all sorts of things. Did you really doubt if I knew?""No. But I don't suppose you can understand.""I don't see why I shouldn't."
"To know things by name is one thing; to know them by seeing them and feeling them and being them quite another. That is where life takes advantage of youth. You don't understand.""Perhaps I don't."
