Did you ever see a man look so ill?",
"He is bored," Brooks answered, coldly. "This sort of thing does not
amuse him."
She shook her head.
"He is always the same. He has always that weary look. He is living
with absolute recklessness. It cannot possibly last long."
"He knows the price," Brooks answered. "He lives as he chooses."
"I wonder," she murmured. "Sometimes I wonder whether we do not
misjudge him--you and I, Kingston. For you know we have been his
judges. You must not shake your head. It is true. You have judged him
to be unworthy of a son, and I--I have judged him to be unworthy of a
wife. You don't think--that we could possibly have made a mistake--that
underneath there is a little heart left--eaten up with pride and
loneliness?"
"I have never seen," Brooks answered, "the slightest trace of it."
"Nor I," she answered. "Yet I knew him when he was young. He was so
different, and annihilation is very hard, isn't it? Supposing he were
to die, and we were to find out afterwards?"
"You," he said, slowly, "must be the judge of your own actions.
Pages:
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388