The thought made Geoffrey's heart ache with a physical pain,
but his reason told him that it was best so. After all, there were no
bones broken; there had been no love scenes, no kiss, no words that
cannot be recalled; whatever there was lay beneath the surface,
and while appearances were kept up all was well. No doubt it was
an hypocrisy, but then hypocrisy is one of the great pillars of
civilization, and how does it matter what the heart says while the lips
are silent? The Recording Angel can alone read hearts, and he must often
find them singularly contradictory and untrustworthy writings.
Die of them, die of her dreams! No, Beatrice would not die of them, and
certainly he should not. Probably in the end she would marry that pious
earthly lump, Owen Davies. It was not pleasant to think of, it was even
dreadful, but really if she were to ask him his opinion, "as a friend,"
he should tell her it was the best thing that she could do. Of course
it would be hypocrisy again, the lips would give his heart the lie; but
when the heart rises in rebellion against the intelligence it must be
suppressed.
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