When they
asked you to hand the plate in church I was watching you--_you wanted to
accept."_
She stepped close, laying her hand on his arm.
"Do you know, I begin to see what marriage is for. It's to keep people
away from each other. Sometimes I think that two people who love each
other can be saved from madness only by the things that come between
them--children, duties, visits, bores, relations--the things that protect
married people from each other. We've been too close together--that has
been our sin. We've seen the nakedness of each other's souls."
She sank again on the sofa, hiding her face in her hands.
Gannett stood above her perplexedly: he felt as though she were being
swept away by some implacable current while he stood helpless on its bank.
At length he said, "Lydia, don't think me a brute--but don't you see
yourself that it won't do?"
"Yes, I see it won't do," she said without raising her head.
His face cleared.
"Then we'll go to-morrow."
"Go--where?"
"To Paris; to be married."
For a long time she made no answer; then she asked slowly, "Would they
have us here if we were married?"
"Have us here?"
"I mean Lady Susan--and the others."
"Have us here? Of course they would."
"Not if they knew--at least, not unless they could pretend not to know."
He made an impatient gesture.
"We shouldn't come back here, of course; and other people needn't know--no
one need know.
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