rd's and, to some extent, from my own. You have the facts for
the trouble of finding them; you have the points of view as far as I
could ascertain or put them. Let me imagine myself back, then, at
the day of Maisie's death--or rather at the moment of Florence's
dissertation on the Protest, up in the old Castle of the town of
M----. Let us consider Leonora's point of view with regard to Florence;
Edward's, of course, I cannot give you, for Edward naturally never spoke
of his affair with my wife. (I may, in what follows, be a little hard
on Florence; but you must remember that I have been writing away at this
story now for six months and reflecting longer and longer upon these
affairs.) And the longer I think about them the more certain I
become that Florence was a contaminating influence--she depressed and
deteriorated poor Edward; she deteriorated, hopelessly, the miserable
Leonora. There is no doubt that she caused Leonora's character to
deteriorate. If there was a fine point about Leonora it was that she
was proud and that she was silent. But that pride and that silence broke
when she made that extraordinary outburst, in the shadowy room that
contained the Protest, and in the little terrace looking over the river.
I don't mean to say that she was doing a wrong thing. She was certainly
doing right in trying to warn me that Florence was making eyes at her
husband. But, if she did the right thing, she was doing it in the wrong
way. Perhaps she should have reflected longer; she should have spoken,
if she wanted to speak, only after reflection. Or it would have been
better if she had acted--if, for instance, she had so chaperoned
Florence that private communication between her and Edward became
impossible. She should have gone eavesdropping; she should have watched
outside bedroom doors. It is odious; but that is the way the job is
done. She should have taken Edward away the moment Maisie was dead.
No, she acted wrongly.... And yet, poor thing, is it for me to condemn
her--and what did it matter in the end? If it had not been Florence, it
would have been some other... Still, it might have been a better woman
than my wife. For Florence was vulgar; Florence was a common flirt who
would not, at the last, lacher prise; and Florence was an unstoppable
talker. You could not stop her; nothing would stop her. Edward and
Leonora were at least proud and reserved people. Pride and reserve are
not the only things in life; perhaps they a