William Somerset Maugham Fullscreen A sense of decency (1929)

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I’m dreadfully sorry for you.”

On a sudden Mary’s haggard, weather-beaten face was lit by a smile that broke on her large red mouth; and upon my word at that moment she was beautiful.

“You need not be.

I was rather low a little while ago, but now I’ve had a good cry I feel better.

Notwithstanding all the pain, all the unhappiness this affair has caused me, I wouldn’t have missed it for all the world.

For those few moments of ecstasy my love has brought me I would be willing to live all my life over again.

And I think he’d tell you the same thing.

Oh, it’s been so infinitely worth while.”

I could not help but be moved.

“There’s no doubt about it,” I said. “That’s love all right.”

“Yes, it’s love, and we’ve just got to go through with it.

There’s no way out.”

And now with this tragic suddenness the way out had come.

I turned a little to look at Mary and she, feeling my eyes upon her, turned too.

There was a smile on her lips.

“Why did you come here tonight?

It must be awful for you.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“What could I do?

I read the news in the evening paper while I was dressing.

He’d asked me not to ring up the nursing-home on account of his wife.

It’s death to me.

Death.

I had to come.

We’d been engaged for a month.

What excuse could I give Tom?

I’m not supposed to have seen Gerrard for two years.

Do you know that for twenty years we’ve written to one another every day?”

Her lower lip trembled a little, but she bit it and for a moment her face was twisted to a strange grimace; then with a smile she pulled herself together. “He was everything I had in the world, but I couldn’t let the party down, could I?

He always said I had a social sense.”

“Happily we shall break up early and you can go home.”

“I don’t want to go home.

I don’t want to be alone.

I daren’t cry because my eyes will get red and swollen, and we’ve got a lot of people lunching with us tomorrow. Will you come, by the way?

I want an extra man. I must be in good form; Tom expects to get a commission for a portrait out of it.”

“By George, you’ve got courage.”

“D’you think so?

I’m heartbroken, you know. I suppose that’s what makes it easier for me.

Gerrard would have liked me to put a good face on it.

He would have appreciated the irony of the situation.

It’s the sort of thing he always thought the French novelists described so well.”