Yes: she would always find the man, on her return--the
man whom she had trusted and honoured--the latter clause he passed
over--it would be, of course the same man: whether she would still be
able to trust and honour him--that question he did not put to himself.
After all, the doctor was acting--not he, himself.
And he remembered Hugh Mountjoy. Iris would be with him--the man whose
affection was only brought out in the stronger light by his respect,
his devotion, and his delicacy. She would be in his society: she would
understand the true meaning of this respect and delicacy: she would
appreciate the depth of his devotion: she would contrast Hugh, the man
she might have married, with himself, the man she did marry.
And the house was wretched without her; and he hated the sight of the
doctor--desperate and reckless.
He resolved to write to Iris: he sat down and poured out his heart, but
not his conscience, to her.
"As for our separation," he said, "I, and only I, am to blame. It is my
own abominable conduct that has caused it. Give me your pardon, dearest
Iris. If I have made it impossible for you to live with me, it is also
impossible for me to live without you.
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