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-I said to him, Give her up —
-One morning as I was sitting —
I said to him, Give her up.
I swore by all I held most sacred —
One morning as I was sitting stitching
by the open window she burst in and flew at me.
Give me up, she screamed, he's mine.
Her photographs were kind to her.
Seeing her now for the first time
full length in the flesh...
...I understood why he preferred me.
We were not long together
when she smelled the rat.
Give up that whore, she said,
or I'll cut my throat — [Hiccup.]
...pardon — so help me God.
I knew she could have no proof.
So I told her I did not know
what she was talking about.
What are you talking about?
I said, stitching away.
Someone yours? Give up whom?
I smell you off him, she screamed,
he stinks of bitch.
Though I had him dogged for months
by a first-rate man,
no shadow of proof was forthcoming.
And there was no denying that
he continued as... assiduous as ever.
This, and his horror of the merely
Platonic thing, made me sometimes wonder...
...if I were not accusing him unjustly. Yes.
What have you to complain of? I said.
Have I been neglecting you?
How could we be together in the way
we are if there were someone else?
Loving her as I did, with all my heart,
I could not but feel sorry for her.
Fearing she was about to offer me violence
I rang for Erskine and had her shown out.
Her parting words, as he could testify,
if he is still living, and has not forgotten,
coming and going on the earth,
letting people in, showing people out,
were to the effect that
she would settle my hash.
I confess this did alarm me a little,
at the time.
She was not convinced.
I might have known.
I smell her off you, she kept saying.
There was no answer to this.
So I took her in my arms and swore
I could not live without her.
I meant it, what is more.
Yes, I am sure I did.
She did not repulse me.
Judge then of my ashonishment
when one fine morning,
as I was sitting stricken
in the morning room, he slunk in,
fell on his knees before me,
buried his face
in my lap and... confessed.
She put a bloodhound on me,
but I had a little chat with him.
He was glad of the extra money.
Why don't you get out, I said, when
he started moaning about his home life,
there is obviously nothing between
you any more. Or is there?
I confess my first feeling was
one of wonderment. What a male!
Anything between us, he said, what do you
take me for, a something machine?
And of course with him no danger
of the... spiritual thing.
Then why don't you get out? I said.
I sometimes wondered if he was
not living with her for her money.
The next thing was
the scene between them.
I can't have her crashing in here,
she said, threatening to take my life.
I must have looked incredulous.
Ask Erskine, she said,
if you don't believe me.
But she threatens to take her own,
I said. Not yours? she said.
No, I said, hers.
We had fun trying to work this out.
Then I forgave him.
To what will love not stoop!
I suggested a little jaunt to celebrate,
to the Riviera or our darling Grand Canary.
He was looking pale. Peaked.
But this was not possible just then.
Professional commitments.
She came again. Just strolled in.
All honey. Licking her lips. Poor thing.
I was doing my nails, by the open window.
He has told me all about it, she said.
Who he, I said filing away, and what it?
I know what torture you must be going
through, she said, and I have dropped...