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I believe that the girl had been frank with him,
with the frankness of women to whom perfect frankness is impossible,
because so much of their safety depends on judicious reticences. I am
not indulging in cheap sneers. There is necessity in these things. And
moreover she could not have spoken with a certain voice in the face of
his impetuosity, because she did not have time to understand either the
state of her feelings, or the precise nature of what she was doing.
Had she spoken ever so clearly he was, I take it, too elated to hear her
distinctly. I don't mean to imply that he was a fool. Oh dear no! But
he had no training in the usual conventions, and we must remember that he
had no experience whatever of women. He could only have an ideal
conception of his position. An ideal is often but a flaming vision of
reality.
To him enters Fyne, wound up, if I may express myself so irreverently,
wound up to a high pitch by his wife's interpretation of the girl's
letter. He enters with his talk of meanness and cruelty, like a bucket
of water on the flame.


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