THE NEW MACHIAVELLI

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THE NEW MACHIAVELLI Page 53

by H. G. Wells


  thought of people I had been merry with, people I had worked with

  and played with, the companions of talkative walks, the hostesses of

  houses that had once glowed with welcome for us both. I perceived

  we must lose them all. I saw life like a tree in late autumn that

  had once been rich and splendid with friends-and now the last brave

  dears would be hanging on doubtfully against the frosty chill of

  facts, twisting and tortured in the universal gale of indignation,

  trying to evade the cold blast of the truth. I had betrayed my

  party, my intimate friend, my wife, the wife whose devotion had made

  me what I was. For awhile the figure of Margaret, remote, wounded,

  shamed, dominated my mind, and the thought of my immense

  ingratitude. Damn them! they'd take it out of her too. I had a

  feeling that I wanted to go straight back and grip some one by the

  throat, some one talking ill of Margaret. They'd blame her for not

  keeping me, for letting things go so far… I wanted the whole

  world to know how fine she was. I saw in imagination the busy,

  excited dinner tables at work upon us all, rather pleasantly

  excited, brightly indignant, merciless.

  Well, it's the stuff we are!…

  Then suddenly, stabbing me to the heart, came a vision of Margaret's

  tears and the sound of her voice saying, "Husband mine! Oh! husband

  mine! To see you cry!"…

  I came out of a cloud of thoughts to discover the narrow

  compartment, with its feeble lamp overhead, and our rugs and hand-

  baggage swaying on the rack, and Isabel, very still in front of me,

  gripping my wilting red roses tightly in her bare and ringless hand.

  For a moment I could not understand her attitude, and then I

  perceived she was sitting bent together with her head averted from

  the light to hide the tears that were streaming down her face. She

  had not got her handkerchief out for fear that I should see this,

  but I saw her tears, dark drops of tears, upon her sleeve…

  I suppose she had been watching my expression, divining my thoughts.

  For a time I stared at her and was motionless, in a sort of still

  and weary amazement. Why had we done this injury to one another?

  WHY? Then something stirred within me.

  "ISABEL!" I whispered.

  She made no sign.

  "Isabel!" I repeated, and then crossed over to her and crept closely

  to her, put my arm about her, and drew her wet cheek to mine.

  The End

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