Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

XII

           

           ShefanciedthatDarrow’sexclamationhadinitafaintnoteofannoyance,andwonderedifheagainsuspectedherofseekingapretextforpostponement.

           “ButonceOwen’sfutureissettled,youwon’t,surely,forthesakeofwhatyoucallseeinghimthrough,askthatIshouldgoawayagainwithoutyou?”Hedrewhercloserastheywalked.“Owenwillunderstand,ifyoudon’t.Sincehe’sinthesamecasehimselfI’llthrowmyselfonhismercy.He’llseethatIhavethefirstclaimonyou;hewon’tevenwantyounottoseeit.”

           “Owenseeseverything:I’mnotafraidofthat.Buthisfutureisn’tsettled.He’sveryyoungtomarry—tooyoung,hisgrandmotherissuretothink—andthemarriagehewantstomakeisnotlikelytoconvincehertothecontrary.”

           “Youdon’tmeanthatit’slikehisfirstchoice?”

           “Oh,no!Butit’snotwhatMadamedeChantellewouldcallagoodmatch;it’snotevenwhatIcallawiseone.”

           “Yetyou’rebackinghimup?”

           “YetI’mbackinghimup.”Shepaused.“Iwonderifyou’llunderstand?WhatI’vemostwantedforhim,andshallwantforEffie,isthattheyshallalwaysfeelfreetomaketheirownmistakes,andnever,ifpossible,bepersuadedtomakeotherpeople’s.EvenifOwen’smarriageisamistake,andhastobepaidfor,Ibelievehe’lllearnandgrowinthepaying.OfcourseIcan’tmakeMadamedeChantelleseethis;butIcanremindherthat,withhischaracter—hisbigrushesofimpulse,hisoddintervalsofebbandapathy—shemaydrivehimintosomeworseblunderifshethwartshimnow.

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