Chapter XXXIII

by William Somerset Maugham

　　Two or three days later Dirk Stroeve called on me."I hear you've seen Blanche," he said."How on earth did you find out?""I was told by someone who saw you sitting with them.Why didn't you tell me?""I thought it would only pain you.""What do I care if it does? You must know that I want to hearthe smallest thing about her."I waited for him to ask me questions."What does she look like?" he said."Absolutely unchanged.""Does she seem happy?"I shrugged my shoulders."How can I tell? We were in a cafe; we were playing chess;I had no opportunity to speak to her.""Oh, but couldn't you tell by her face?"I shook my head. I could only repeat that by no word, by nohinted gesture, had she given an indication of her feelings.He must know better than I how great were her powers ofself-control. He clasped his hands emotionally."Oh, I'm so frightened. I know something is going to happen,something terrible, and I can do nothing to stop it.""What sort of thing?" I asked."Oh, I don't know," he moaned, seizing his head with hishands. "I foresee some terrible catastrophe."Stroeve had always been excitable, but now he was besidehimself; there was no reasoning with him. I thought itprobable enough that Blanche Stroeve would not continue tofind life with Strickland tolerable, but one of the falsest ofproverbs is that you must lie on the bed that you have made.The experience of life shows that people are constantly doingthings which must lead to disaster, and yet by some chancemanage to evade the result of their folly. When Blanchequarrelled with Strickland she had only to leave him, and herhusband was waiting humbly to forgive and forget. I was notprepared to feel any great sympathy for her."You see, you don't love her," said Stroeve."After all, there's nothing to prove that she is unhappy.For all we know they may have settled down into a mostdomestic couple."Stroeve gave me a look with his woeful eyes."Of course it doesn't much matter to you, but to me it's soserious, so intensely serious."I was sorry if I had seemed impatient or flippant."Will you do something for me?" asked Stroeve."Willingly.""Will you write to Blanche for me?""Why can't you write yourself?""I've written over and over again. I didn't expect her to answer.I don't think she reads the letters.""You make no account of feminine curiosity. Do you think shecould resist?""She could -- mine."I looked at him quickly. He lowered his eyes. That answer ofhis seemed to me strangely humiliating. He was conscious thatshe regarded him with an indifference so profound that thesight of his handwriting would have not the slightest effecton her."Do you really believe that she'll ever come back to you?" I asked."I want her to know that if the worst comes to the worst shecan count on me. That's what I want you to tell her."I took a sheet of paper."What is it exactly you wish me to say?"This is what I wrote:DEAR MRS. STROEVE, Dirk wishes me to tell you that if atany time you want him he will be grateful for the opportunityof being of service to you. He has no ill-feeling towards youon account of anything that has happened. His love for you isunaltered. You will always find him at the followingaddress: