want to part. I believe I ought to part."
"Well?"
"But then my affection comes in."
"That extraordinary—TENDERNESS of yours?"
"I'm afraid."
"Of what?"
"Anyone might get hold of her—if I let her down. She hasn't a tithe of
the ordinary coolheaded calculation of an average woman.... I've a duty
to her genius. I've got to take care of her."
To which the doctor made no reply.
"Nevertheless the idea of parting has been very much in my mind lately."
"Letting her go FREE?"
"You can put it in that way if you like."
"It might not be a fatal operation for either of you."
"And yet there are moods when parting is an intolerable idea. When one
is invaded by a flood of affection..... And old habits of association."
Dr. Martineau thought. Was that the right word,—affection? Perhaps it
was.
They had come out on the towing path close by the lock and they found
themselves threading their way through a little crowd of boating people
and lookers-on. For a time their conversation was broken. Sir Richmond
resumed it.
"But this is where we cease to be Man on his Planet and all the rest of
it. This is where the idea of a definite task, fanatically followed to
the exclusion of all minor considerations, breaks down. When the work
is good, when we are sure we are all right, then we may carry off things
with a high hand. But the work isn't always good, we aren't always
sure. We blunder, we make a muddle, we are fatigued. Then the
sacrificed affections come in as accusers. Then it is that we want to be
reassured."
"And then it is that Miss Martin Leeds—?"
"Doesn't," Sir Richmond snapped.
Came a long pause.
"And yet—It is extraordinarily difficult to think of parting from
Martin."
Section 3
In the evening after dinner Dr. Martineau sought, rather unsuccessfully,
to go on with the analysis of Sir Richmond.
But Sir Richmond was evidently a creature of moods. Either he regretted
the extent of his confidences or the slight irrational irritation
that he felt at waiting for his car affected his attitude towards his
companion, or Dr. Martineau's tentatives were ill-chosen. At any rate he
would not rise to any conversational bait that the doctor could devise.
The doctor found this the more regrettable because it seemed to him that
there was much to be worked upon in this Martin Leeds affair. He was
inclined to think that she and Sir Richmond were unduly obsessed by the
idea that they had to stick together because of the child, because
of the look of the thing and so forth, and that really each might be
struggling against a very strong impulse indeed to break off the affair.
It seemed evident to the doctor that they jarred upon and annoyed each
other extremely. On the whole separating people appealed to a doctor's
mind more strongly than bringing them together. Accordingly he framed
his enquiries so as to make the revelation of a latent antipathy as easy
as possible.
He made several not very well-devised beginnings. At the fifth Sir
Richmond was suddenly conclusive. "It's no use," he said, "I can't
fiddle about any more with my motives to-day."
An awkward silence followed. On reflection Sir Richmond seemed to
realize that this sentence needed some apology. "I admit," he said,
"that this expedition has already been a wonderfully good thing for me.
These confessions have made me look into all sorts of things—squarely.
But—I'm not used to talking about myself or even thinking directly
about myself. What I say, I afterwards find disconcerting to recall.
I want to alter it. I can feel myself wallowing into a mess of
modifications and qualifications."
"Yes, but—"
"I want a rest anyhow...."
There was nothing for Dr. Martineau to say to that.
The two gentlemen smoked for some time in a slightly uncomfortable
silence. Dr. Martineau cleared his throat twice and lit a second cigar.
They then agreed to admire the bridge and think well of Maidenhead. Sir
Richmond communicated hopeful news about his car, which was to arrive
the next
"Well?"
"But then my affection comes in."
"That extraordinary—TENDERNESS of yours?"
"I'm afraid."
"Of what?"
"Anyone might get hold of her—if I let her down. She hasn't a tithe of
the ordinary coolheaded calculation of an average woman.... I've a duty
to her genius. I've got to take care of her."
To which the doctor made no reply.
"Nevertheless the idea of parting has been very much in my mind lately."
"Letting her go FREE?"
"You can put it in that way if you like."
"It might not be a fatal operation for either of you."
"And yet there are moods when parting is an intolerable idea. When one
is invaded by a flood of affection..... And old habits of association."
Dr. Martineau thought. Was that the right word,—affection? Perhaps it
was.
They had come out on the towing path close by the lock and they found
themselves threading their way through a little crowd of boating people
and lookers-on. For a time their conversation was broken. Sir Richmond
resumed it.
"But this is where we cease to be Man on his Planet and all the rest of
it. This is where the idea of a definite task, fanatically followed to
the exclusion of all minor considerations, breaks down. When the work
is good, when we are sure we are all right, then we may carry off things
with a high hand. But the work isn't always good, we aren't always
sure. We blunder, we make a muddle, we are fatigued. Then the
sacrificed affections come in as accusers. Then it is that we want to be
reassured."
"And then it is that Miss Martin Leeds—?"
"Doesn't," Sir Richmond snapped.
Came a long pause.
"And yet—It is extraordinarily difficult to think of parting from
Martin."
Section 3
In the evening after dinner Dr. Martineau sought, rather unsuccessfully,
to go on with the analysis of Sir Richmond.
But Sir Richmond was evidently a creature of moods. Either he regretted
the extent of his confidences or the slight irrational irritation
that he felt at waiting for his car affected his attitude towards his
companion, or Dr. Martineau's tentatives were ill-chosen. At any rate he
would not rise to any conversational bait that the doctor could devise.
The doctor found this the more regrettable because it seemed to him that
there was much to be worked upon in this Martin Leeds affair. He was
inclined to think that she and Sir Richmond were unduly obsessed by the
idea that they had to stick together because of the child, because
of the look of the thing and so forth, and that really each might be
struggling against a very strong impulse indeed to break off the affair.
It seemed evident to the doctor that they jarred upon and annoyed each
other extremely. On the whole separating people appealed to a doctor's
mind more strongly than bringing them together. Accordingly he framed
his enquiries so as to make the revelation of a latent antipathy as easy
as possible.
He made several not very well-devised beginnings. At the fifth Sir
Richmond was suddenly conclusive. "It's no use," he said, "I can't
fiddle about any more with my motives to-day."
An awkward silence followed. On reflection Sir Richmond seemed to
realize that this sentence needed some apology. "I admit," he said,
"that this expedition has already been a wonderfully good thing for me.
These confessions have made me look into all sorts of things—squarely.
But—I'm not used to talking about myself or even thinking directly
about myself. What I say, I afterwards find disconcerting to recall.
I want to alter it. I can feel myself wallowing into a mess of
modifications and qualifications."
"Yes, but—"
"I want a rest anyhow...."
There was nothing for Dr. Martineau to say to that.
The two gentlemen smoked for some time in a slightly uncomfortable
silence. Dr. Martineau cleared his throat twice and lit a second cigar.
They then agreed to admire the bridge and think well of Maidenhead. Sir
Richmond communicated hopeful news about his car, which was to arrive
the next
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