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I
shrugged
my
shoulders
,
but
did
not
speak
I
had
no
sympathy
for
Blanche
Stroeve
,
but
knew
that
it
would
only
pain
poor
Dirk
if
I
told
him
exactly
what
I
thought
of
her
.
He
had
reached
that
stage
of
exhaustion
when
he
could
not
stop
talking
.
He
went
over
again
every
word
of
the
scene
.
Now
something
occurred
to
him
that
he
had
not
told
me
before
;
now
he
discussed
what
he
ought
to
have
said
instead
of
what
he
did
say
;
then
he
lamented
his
blindness
.
He
regretted
that
he
had
done
this
,
and
blamed
himself
that
he
had
omitted
the
other
.
It
grew
later
and
later
,
and
at
last
I
was
as
tired
as
he
.
"
What
are
you
going
to
do
now
?
"
I
said
finally
.
"
What
can
I
do
?
I
shall
wait
till
she
sends
for
me
.
"
"
Why
don
’
t
you
go
away
for
a
bit
?
"
"
No
,
no
;
I
must
be
at
hand
when
she
wants
me
.
"
For
the
present
he
seemed
quite
lost
.
He
had
made
no
plans
.
When
I
suggested
that
he
should
go
to
bed
he
said
he
could
not
sleep
;
he
wanted
to
go
out
and
walk
about
the
streets
till
day
.
He
was
evidently
in
no
state
to
be
left
alone
.
I
persuaded
him
to
stay
the
night
with
me
,
and
I
put
him
into
my
own
bed
.
I
had
a
divan
in
my
sitting
-
room
,
and
could
very
well
sleep
on
that
.
He
was
by
now
so
worn
out
that
he
could
not
resist
my
firmness
.
I
gave
him
a
sufficient
dose
of
veronal
to
insure
his
unconsciousness
for
several
hours
.
I
thought
that
was
the
best
service
I
could
render
him
.
But
the
bed
I
made
up
for
myself
was
sufficiently
uncomfortable
to
give
me
a
wakeful
night
,
and
I
thought
a
good
deal
of
what
the
unlucky
Dutchman
had
told
me
.
I
was
not
so
much
puzzled
by
Blanche
Stroeve
’
s
action
,
for
I
saw
in
that
merely
the
result
of
a
physical
appeal
.
I
do
not
suppose
she
had
ever
really
cared
for
her
husband
,
and
what
I
had
taken
for
love
was
no
more
than
the
feminine
response
to
caresses
and
comfort
which
in
the
minds
of
most
women
passes
for
it
.
It
is
a
passive
feeling
capable
of
being
roused
for
any
object
,
as
the
vine
can
grow
on
any
tree
;
and
the
wisdom
of
the
world
recognises
its
strength
when
it
urges
a
girl
to
marry
the
man
who
wants
her
with
the
assurance
that
love
will
follow
.
It
is
an
emotion
made
up
of
the
satisfaction
in
security
,
pride
of
property
,
the
pleasure
of
being
desired
,
the
gratification
of
a
household
,
and
it
is
only
by
an
amiable
vanity
that
women
ascribe
to
it
spiritual
value
.
It
is
an
emotion
which
is
defenceless
against
passion
.
I
suspected
that
Blanche
Stroeve
’
s
violent
dislike
of
Strickland
had
in
it
from
the
beginning
a
vague
element
of
sexual
attraction
.
Who
am
I
that
I
should
seek
to
unravel
the
mysterious
intricacies
of
sex
?
Perhaps
Stroeve
’
s
passion
excited
without
satisfying
that
part
of
her
nature
,
and
she
hated
Strickland
because
she
felt
in
him
the
power
to
give
her
what
she
needed
.
I
think
she
was
quite
sincere
when
she
struggled
against
her
husband
’
s
desire
to
bring
him
into
the
studio
;
I
think
she
was
frightened
of
him
,
though
she
knew
not
why
;
and
I
remembered
how
she
had
foreseen
disaster
.
I
think
in
some
curious
way
the
horror
which
she
felt
for
him
was
a
transference
of
the
horror
which
she
felt
for
herself
because
he
so
strangely
troubled
her
.
His
appearance
was
wild
and
uncouth
;
there
was
aloofness
in
his
eyes
and
sensuality
in
his
mouth
;
he
was
big
and
strong
;
he
gave
the
impression
of
untamed
passion
;
and
perhaps
she
felt
in
him
,
too
,
that
sinister
element
which
had
made
me
think
of
those
wild
beings
of
the
world
’
s
early
history
when
matter
,
retaining
its
early
connection
with
the
earth
,
seemed
to
possess
yet
a
spirit
of
its
own
.
If
he
affected
her
at
all
,
it
was
inevitable
that
she
should
love
or
hate
him
.
She
hated
him
.
