Mrs. Hannaford's only
bitterness was that in law she remained wedded. It soothed her but
moderately to reflect that she was a martyr to national morality.
She was pressed to come and stay for a while in Bryanston Square,
but Olga would not accept that invitation. Her mother's affairs
being satisfactorily settled, the girl returned to her fixed
purpose; she would hear of no further postponement of her marriage.
Thereupon Mrs. Hannaford took a step she feared to be useless, but
which was the only hope remaining to her. She wrote to Kite; she
explained to him her circumstances; she asked him whether, out of
justice to Olga, who might repent a hasty union, he would join her
(Mrs. Hannaford) in a decision to put off the marriage for one year.
If, in a twelvemonth, Olga were still of the same mind, all
opposition should be abandoned, and more than that, pecuniary help
would be given to the couple. She appealed to his manhood, to his
generosity, to his good sense.
And, much to her surprise, the appeal was successful. Kite wrote the
oddest letter in reply, all disjointed philosophising, with the gist
that perhaps Mrs. Hannaford was right. No harm in waiting a year;
perhaps much good. Life was a mystery; love was uncertain. He would
get on with his art, the only stable thing from his point of view.
From her next meeting with her lover, Olga came hack pale and
wretched.
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