Part 47 (1/2)
”Don't begin at all,” said Antony hoa.r.s.ely, sternly almost.
”Ah, but I must. Think how I spoke to you. You--we had agreed that trust was the very foundation of friends.h.i.+p, and I destroyed the foundation at the outset.”
”It was not likely you could understand,” said Antony.
She caught her breath, a little quick intake.
”Would you say the same if it had been the other way about? Would _you_ have destroyed the foundation?”
Antony was silent.
”Would you?” she insisted.
”I--I hope not,” he stammered.
”And yet you appear to think it reasonable that I should have done so.”
He could not quite understand the tone of her words.
”I think it reasonable you did not understand,” he declared. ”How could you? n.o.body could have understood. It was the maddest, the most inconceivable situation.”
”Possibly. Yet if the positions had been reversed, if it had been you who had failed to understand my actions, would you not still have trusted?”
”Yes,” said Antony, conviction in the syllable. He did not think to ask her how it was that she understood now. The simple fact that she did understand swept aside, made trivial every other consideration.
”You mean that a man's trust holds good under any circ.u.mstances, whereas a woman's trust will obviously fail before the first difficulty?” she demanded.
”I did not mean that,” cried Antony hotly.
”No?” she queried mockingly.
”It was not, on my part, a question of _trust_ alone,” said Antony deliberately. He looked straight at her as he spoke the words.
The d.u.c.h.essa dropped her eyes. A crimson colour tinged her cheeks, crept upwards to her forehead.
There was a dead silence. Then----
”Will you help me to re-build the foundation?” asked the d.u.c.h.essa.
”It was never destroyed,” said Antony.
”Mine was,” she replied steadily. ”Will you forgive me?”
”There can be no question of forgiveness,” he replied hoa.r.s.ely.
Her face went to white.
”You refuse?”
”There is nothing to forgive,” he said.