She
was sure that his mother and sisters had never understood him; and she
did not think it quite proper on their part to have gone permanently
to America, leaving him solitary in England, as they had done. She
perceived that she herself was the one person in the world capable
of understanding Julian, the one person who could look after him,
influence him, keep him straight, civilize him, and impart some charm
to his life. And she was glad that she had the status of a married
woman, because without that she would have been helpless.
Julian sat down, or sank, on to the chair.
"I'm very sorry I spoke like that to you in the other room--I mean
about what you'd written," she said. "I suppose I ought not to have
burnt it."
She spoke in this manner because to apologize to him gave her a
curious pleasure.
"That's nothing," he answered, with the quietness of fatigue. "I dare
say you were right enough. Anyhow, ye'll never see me again."
She exclaimed, kindly protesting--
"Why not, I should like to know?"
"You won't want me here as a visitor, after all this." He faintly
sneered.
"I shall," she insisted.
"Louis won't."
She replied: "You must come and see me. I shall expect you to.
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