"No."
"And if you don't think me able and disposed to play a man's part in
the world, you oughtn't to care a copper for me, that is plain, isn't
it?"
"Yes, quite plain."
"And the fact that you did, and that you do, has nothing to do with
it--nothing in the world, has it, Helena?"
"No." She must have been very pale, though I could not tell.
"Therefore, as logic shows us, my dear, and because we never did get
our premises straight, and so never will get our conclusions straight,
either--we don't belong together and never can come together, can we?"
"No." I could barely hear her whisper.
"No. And that is why, just before you came, I was trying to pull
myself together and to advance as best an unhappy devil may, upon
Chaos and the Dark! And that's all I see ahead, Helena, without
you--Chaos and the Dark."
"It was all you saw that night, in the little boat," she said after a
time. "Yet you went?"
"Oh, yes, but that was different."
"Is this all, Harry?" she said, and moved toward the door.
"Yes, my dear; it is all--but all the rest."
Her color must have risen, for I saw dimly that she raised both her
hands to her bosom, her throat. Thus the heartless jade stood, her
head drooped, unable to meet the piercing gaze of my eagle eye.
There came a faint scratching at the door, a little whimpering whine.
"It is Partial, my dog, come after you," said I bitterly. "He knows
you are here. He never has done that way for me. He loves you."
"He knows you are here, and he loves you," said she. "That is why
things come and scratch at doors where ruffians live."
I flung open the door. "Partial," said I, "come in; and choose between
us."
As to the first part of my speech, the invitation to enter, Partial
obeyed with a rush; as to the second, the admonition, he apparently
could not obey at all. In his poor dumb brute affliction, lack of
human speech, he stood, after saluting us both, alternately and
equally, hesitant between us, wagging, whining and gazing, knowing
full well somewhat was wrong between us, grieving over us, beseeching
us--but certainly not choosing between us.
"Give him time," said I hoarsely. "He loves you more, and is merely
polite to me."
"Give him time," said she bitterly. "He loves you more, and you don't
deserve it."
But Partial would not choose.
"He wants us both, Helena!" said I at last. "He has wiped out logic,
premises, conclusions, cause and effect, horse, cart and all! He wants
us both! He wants a quiet home and independence, Helena, and
usefulness, and contentment. Ah, my God!"