“I could not have stayed in Paris and waited for news. ‘So are you. As to following, there was no one. I trust that she will not misunderstand me. I love you. ” He receded from her. He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate. Knowing the South Seas from hearsay and by travel, he knew something of that inertia which blunted the fineness, innate and acquired, of white men and women, the eternal warfare against indifference and slovenliness. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy.
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