"I don't
understand at all. You came here, and you fitted in at once, seemed
to understand everyone and everything, and gave us all a lift. It
is miserable--that you should have brought so much happiness to us,
and then have tired of it all. I don't understand it in the least.
Something must have happened to distress you--it can't all go to
pieces like this!"
"Oh," said Howard, "I interfered. It is my accursed trick of
playing with people, wanting to be liked, wanting to make a
difference. How can I explain? . . . Well, I must tell you. You
must forgive me somehow! I tried--don't look at me while I say it--
I have tried to interfere with YOU. I tried to make a friend of
you; and then when you came to Cambridge, I saw I had claimed too
much; that your place was not with such as myself--the old, stupid,
battered generation, fit for nothing but worrying along. I saw you
were young, and needed youth about you. God forgive me for my
selfish plans. I wanted to keep your friendship for myself, and
when I saw you were attracted elsewhere, I was jealous--horribly,
vilely jealous. But I have the grace to despise myself for it, and
I won't hamper you in any way. You must just give me what you can,
and I will be thankful."
As he spoke he saw a curious light pass into the girl's face--a
light of understanding and resolution. He thought that she would
tell him that he was right; and he was unutterably thankful to
think that he had had the courage to speak--he could bear anything
now.
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