Charles had stood up. He leant by the fireplace and spoke with a fierce release of energy:
‘I repeat, you were ready to do all these things to marry Francis. I would have done anything on earth to help you. I would still.’
‘You won’t say this one word which would cost you nothing,’ Katherine cried furiously. ‘You won’t stop your wife finishing off a piece of wickedness she should never have thought of. I know you won’t think twice about what this means for Mr L. You’ve always been capable of being cruel. But is it possible for you to think twice of what it means to us?’
‘Yes,’ said Francis. ‘Can you bring yourself to do that?’
Charles replied: ‘You have said some hard things of me. Many of them are true. You have said hard things of Ann. Those you should have kept to yourselves. I won’t trouble to tell you how untrue they are. Are you sure that in all this concern of yours you’re not thinking of your own convenience? Are you sure that your motives are as pure as you seem to think? It will be a nuisance for you to have a scandal in the family. Aren’t you both so comfortable that you’d like to prevent that — whatever else is lost in the process?’
Francis and Katherine sat silent, looking up at him as he stood. Francis, who in much of the quarrel had shown sympathy, was dark with anger, the vein prominent in his forehead. Katherine said, as a last resort: ‘You won’t trust us. Perhaps you’ll trust Lewis. He’s got nothing at stake. Lewis, will you tell him what you think?’
They all waited for me.
I said: ‘I’ve already said what I think — to Ann.’
‘What did you say?’ cried Katherine.
‘I said she ought to go to Charles and tell him she wanted to call it off.’
I spoke directly to Charles: ‘I should like to ask you something. Will you and Ann talk the whole matter over for the last time?’
He smiled at me and said, without hesitation: ‘No, Lewis.’ He added, for my benefit alone: ‘She did that through you.’
Katherine and Francis exchanged a glance. Francis said: ‘There it is. It’s no use going on. But we must say this. If Ann doesn’t stop this business, we shan’t be able to meet her. Obviously, we shan’t want to create any embarrassment. If we meet socially, we shall put a decent face on it. But we shall not be able to meet her in private.’
‘You know that must include me,’ said Charles.
‘I was afraid you would take it that way,’ said Francis.
Charles said: ‘There’s no other way to take it.’
‘No,’ said Francis.
‘I think you are being just,’ Charles said in a level and passionless voice. ‘All I can say is this: from you both I hoped for something different from justice. Once, if I had been in your place, I should have done as you are doing. I think perhaps I shouldn’t now.’
He added: ‘It is hard to lose you. It always will be.’
His energy had ebbed away for a moment.
He sat down. We made some kind of conversation. Ten minutes passed before Mr March came in.
‘I should be obliged,’ he said, ‘if I could have a word with my daughter.’
‘I’m afraid that I’ve given her my answer,’ said Charles.
42: An Answer
‘I assumed that you knew what she was asking me,’ said Charles. ‘I’m afraid that I’ve given her my answer.’
He had risen as Mr March came in, and they stood face to face by the window, away from the fireplace and the small tea-table, round which the rest of us were still sitting. They stood face to face, Charles some inches taller than his father, his hair catching the sunlight as it had done years before in the examination hall. Against him his father stood, his head less erect, his whole bearing in some way unprepared.
‘I don’t want to hear it,’ said Mr March.
‘You’ll hear it from Katherine as soon as I’ve gone. Don’t you admit that you will? Isn’t it better for me to tell you myself?’
‘I refuse to hear anything further until your wife has completely recovered,’ said Mr March. ‘I don’t regard you as in a fit state to make a decision.’
‘I should make the same decision whether she’s ill or well,’ said Charles. ‘I shan’t change my mind.’
‘What is it?’ said Mr March, in despair.
‘You don’t want me to say much, do you? Katherine has heard it all. All I need say is that, now she’s heard it, she and Francis don’t wish to meet me again.’
‘I knew it,’ said Mr March. They looked at each other.
‘You can endure being lonely?’ Mr March said at last, still in a subdued voice.
‘I can endure that kind of loneliness.’
‘Then it’s useless to ask you to consider mine.’
Charles did not reply at once, and Mr March for the first time raised his voice.
‘It’s useless to ask you to consider my loneliness. I suppose I had better be prepared to take the only steps which are open to me.’
‘I’m afraid that is for you to decide.’
‘You know,’ cried Mr March, ‘I’m not telling you anything original. You know the position you are placing me in. You’re forcing me to deprive myself of my son.’
We each knew that this quarrel was different from those in the past. Always before, Mr March had a power over his son. Now it had gone. Mr March knew: he could not admit it, and his anger rose at random, wildly, without aim.
‘You’re forcing me,’ he shouted, ‘to deprive myself of my son. If this outrage happens’ — he was clinging to a last vestige of hope — ‘if this outrage happens, I shall be compelled to take a step which you will recognize.’
‘It won’t matter to me, don’t you realize that?’
‘Nothing that I possess will come to you. You will be compelled to recognize what you’ve done after my death,’ said Mr March.
‘I’m sorry, but that doesn’t matter.’
Suddenly Katherine cried out: ‘Father, why ever didn’t you make him independent? When he wanted to marry? I told you at the time it wouldn’t be the same between you. Do you remember?’
Mr March turned towards the fireplace, and rounded on her with fury: ‘I only consider it necessary to remind you of what my Uncle Justin said to his daughter.’ For a second all his anger was diverted to her. ‘I reproach myself that I allowed you to make representations between myself and my son.’
‘She did her best,’ said Charles. ‘She tried to bring us together. She tried her best to keep me in your will.’
‘Charles!’ Katherine cried. He had spoken with indifference: but she cried out as though he had been brutal. Mr March ignored her, and returned to face Charles.
‘I should never have spoken of money,’ he said, ‘if I could have relied on your affection.’
For the first time, as they stood there, Charles’ face softened.
‘My affection was greater than you were ever ready to admit,’ he said. ‘Did you hear me speak to you, the night Ann was taken ill? That was true.’
Mr March’s voice rang in our ears: ‘There’s only one thing you can say that I’m prepared to hear.’
Charles had not recovered himself. He said: ‘That’s impossible for me.’
‘Do you consider it more impossible than destroying my family? And showing your utter ingratitude as a son? And condemning yourself to squalor now and after I am dead? And leaving me with nothing to live for in the last years of my life?’
Charles did not answer. Mr March went on: ‘Do you consider it is more impossible than what you’re bringing about?’
‘I’m afraid it is,’ said Charles.
The tone of that reply affected Mr March. Since he appealed to Charles’ affection, he had reached his son. As though interpreting Charles’ reply, which was loaded with remorse, Mr March spoke of Ann.