Supposing that there were an understanding between them, what would it
mean to him?
"Damn it all!" he demanded, "am I in love with her?" To that he could
only return himself one answer. He certainly was in love with her, if
he knew what love meant. Ever since he had first seen her he had been
interested and attracted, more and more interested and attracted, until
he was scarcely able to think of anything except Rachel. But just as he
was sliding into one of the long feasts of meditation about them both,
he checked himself by asking whether he wanted to marry her? That was
the real problem, for these miseries and agonies could not be endured,
and it was necessary that he should make up his mind. He instantly
decided that he did not want to marry any one. Partly because he was
irritated by Rachel the idea of marriage irritated him. It immediately
suggested the picture of two people sitting alone over the fire; the man
was reading, the woman sewing. There was a second picture. He saw a
man jump up, say good-night, leave the company and hasten away with
the quiet secret look of one who is stealing to certain happiness.
Both these pictures were very unpleasant, and even more so was a third
picture, of husband and wife and friend; and the married people
glancing at each other as though they were content to let something
pass unquestioned, being themselves possessed of the deeper truth.
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