He had had an unacknowledged vision of
Robina standing in the witness box, very small and shy, with her eyes
fluttering while she explained to the gentlemen of the jury that she
ran away from her husband because she was afraid of him. He could hear
the question, "Why were you afraid?" and Robina's answer--but at that
point he always reminded himself that it was as a churchman that he
objected to divorce.
For his profession had committed him to a pose. He had posed for more
than thirty years to his parish, to his three wives, to his three
children, and to himself, till he had become unconscious of his real
thoughts, his real motives, his real likings and dislikings. So that
when he told himself that it would have been better if his third wife
had died, he thought he meant that it would have been better for her
and for his opinion of her, whereas what he really did mean was that
it would have been better for himself.
For if Robina had died he could have married again. As it was, her
infidelity condemned him to a celibacy for which, as she knew, he was
utterly unsuited.
Therefore he thought of her as a cruel and unscrupulous woman. And
when he thought of her he became more sorry for himself than ever.
Now, oddly enough, the Grande Polonaise had set Mr. Cartaret thinking
of Robina. It was not that Robina had ever played it. Robina did not
play. It was not the discords introduced into it by Alice, though
Robina had been a thing of discords.
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