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‘D’you want me to?’ he smiled.
‘I suppose you don’t care for me in that way any more?’
‘I’m very fond of you.’
‘You’re much fonder of baby.’
He did not answer, and she laid her cheek against his
hand.
‘You’re not angry with me any more?’ she asked presently,
with her eyes cast down.
‘Why on earth should I be?’
‘I’ve never cared for you as I do now. It’s only since I passed
through the fire that I’ve learnt to love you.’ It chilled Philip
to hear her make use of the sort of phrase she read in the
penny novelettes which she devoured. Then he wondered
whether what she said had any meaning for her: perhaps
she knew no other way to express her genuine feelings than
the stilted language of The Family Herald.
‘It seems so funny our living together like this.’
He did not reply for quite a long time, and silence fell
upon them again; but at last he spoke and seemed conscious
of no interval.
‘You mustn’t be angry with me. One can’t help these
things. I remember that I thought you wicked and cruel be-
cause you did this, that, and the other; but it was very silly
of me. You didn’t love me, and it was absurd to blame you
for that. I thought I could make you love me, but I know
now that was impossible. I don’t know what it is that makes
someone love you, but whatever it is, it’s the only thing that
matters, and if it isn’t there you won’t create it by kindness,
or generosity, or anything of that sort.’