William Somerset Maugham Fullscreen The Fall of Edward Barnard (1921)

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I shall have created something.

The years will pass insensibly, and when I am an old man I hope that I shall be able to look back on a happy, simple, peaceful life.

In my small way I too shall have lived in beauty.

Do you think it is so little to have enjoyed contentment?

We know that it will profit a man little if he gain the whole world and lose his soul.

I think I have won mine.”

Edward led him to a room in which there were two beds and he threw himself on one of them.

In ten minutes Bateman knew by his regular breathing, peaceful as a child’s, that Edward was asleep.

But for his part he had no rest, he was disturbed in mind, and it was not till the dawn crept into the room, ghostlike and silent, that he fell asleep.

Bateman finished telling Isabel his long story.

He had hidden nothing from her except what he thought would wound her or what made himself ridiculous.

He did not tell her that he had been forced to sit at dinner with a wreath of flowers round his head and he did not tell her that Edward was prepared to marry her uncle’s half-caste daughter the moment she set him free.

But perhaps Isabel had keener intuitions than he knew, for as he went on with his tale her eyes grew colder and her lips closed upon one another more tightly.

Now and then she looked at him closely, and if he had been less intent on his narrative he might have wondered at her expression.

“What was this girl like?” she asked when he finished. “Uncle Arnold’s daughter.

Would you say there was any resemblance between her and me?”

Bateman was surprised at the question.

“It never struck me.

You know I’ve never had eyes for anyone but you and I could never think that anyone was like you.

Who could resemble you?”

“Was she pretty?” said Isabel, smiling slightly at his words.

“I suppose so.

I daresay some men would say she was very beautiful.”

“Well, it’s of no consequence.

I don’t think we need give her any more of our attention.”

“What are you going to do, Isabel?” he asked then.

Isabel looked down at the hand which still bore the ring Edward had given her on their betrothal.

“I wouldn’t let Edward break our engagement because I thought it would be an incentive to him.

I wanted to be an inspiration to him.

I thought if anything could enable him to achieve success it was the thought that I loved him.

I have done all I could.

It’s hopeless.

It would only be weakness on my part not to recognise the facts.

Poor Edward, he’s nobody’s enemy but his own.

He was a dear, nice fellow, but there was something lacking in him, I suppose it was backbone.

I hope he’ll be happy.”

She slipped the ring off her finger and placed it on the table.

Bateman watched her with a heart beating so rapidly that he could hardly breathe.

“You’re wonderful, Isabel, you’re simply wonderful.”

She smiled, and, standing up, held out her hand to him.

“How can I ever thank you for what you’ve done for me?” she said.

“You’ve done me a great service.

I knew I could trust you.”

He took her hand and held it.

She had never looked more beautiful.

“Oh, Isabel, I would do so much more for you than that.

You know that I only ask to be allowed to love and serve you.”

“You’re so strong, Bateman,” she sighed.

“It gives me such a delicious feeling of confidence.”

“Isabel, I adore you.”