BOOK NINTH: VANDERBANK
fallen to pieces, and at least I'm not such a fool as not to have felt it in time. From the moment one did feel it why should one insist on vain forms? If you felt it, and were so ready to drop them, my part was what it has always been—to accept the inevitable. We shall never grow together again. The smash was too great."
Vanderbank for a little said nothing; then at last: "You ought to know how great!"
Whatever had happened her lovely look here survived it. "I?"
"The smash," he replied, "was indeed as complete, I think, as your intention. Each of the 'pieces' testifies to your success. Five minutes did it."
She appeared to wonder where he was going. "But surely not my minutes. Where have you discovered that I made Mitchy's marriage?"
"Mitchy's marriage has nothing to do with it."
"I see." She had the old interest, at least, still at their service. "You think we might have survived that." A new thought of it seemed to glimmer. "I'm bound to say Mitchy's marriage promises elements."
"You did it that night at Mrs. Grendon's." He spoke as if he had not heard her. "It was a wonderful performance. You pulled us down—just closing with each of the great columns in its turn—as Samson pulled down the temple. I was, at the time, more or less bruised and buried, and I didn't, in the agitation and confusion, fully understand what had happened. But I understand now."
"Are you very sure?" Mrs. Brook earnestly asked.
"Well, I'm stupid compared with you, but you see I've taken my time. I've puzzled it out. I've lain awake on it: all the more that I've had to do it all myself—with the Mitchys in Italy and Greece. I've missed his aid."
"You'll have it now," Mrs. Brook kindly said. "They're coming back."
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