The Gadfly Ethel Voynich (e reader manga TXT) 📖

other day that you will get into trouble⁠—and when I ask you about it you laugh at me!”

“My dear child,” the Gadfly said, after a little pause of astonishment, “you have got some exaggerated notion into your head. Very likely I shall get killed some day⁠—that is the natural consequence of being a revolutionist. But there is no reason to suppose I am g-g-going to get killed just now. I am running no more risk than other people.”

“Other people⁠—what are other people to me? If you loved me you wouldn’t go off this way and leave me to lie awake at night, wondering whether you’re arrested, or dream you are dead whenever I go to sleep. You don’t care as much for me as for that dog there!”

The Gadfly rose and walked slowly to the other end of the terrace. He was quite unprepared for such a scene as this and at a loss how to answer her. Yes, Gemma was right; he had got his life into a tangle that he would have hard work to undo.

“Sit down and let us talk about it quietly,” he said, coming back after a moment. “I think we have misunderstood each other; of course I should not have laughed if I had thought you were serious. Try to tell me plainly what is troubling you; and then, if there is any misunderstanding, we may be able to clear it up.”

“There’s nothing to clear up. I can see you don’t care a brass farthing for me.”

“My dear child, we had better be quite frank with each other. I have always tried to be honest about our relationship, and I think I have never deceived you as to⁠—”

“Oh, no! you have been honest enough; you have never even pretended to think of me as anything else but a prostitute⁠—a trumpery bit of secondhand finery that plenty of other men have had before you⁠—”

“Hush, Zita! I have never thought that way about any living thing.”

“You have never loved me,” she insisted sullenly.

“No, I have never loved you. Listen to me, and try to think as little harm of me as you can.”

“Who said I thought any harm of you? I⁠—”

“Wait a minute. This is what I want to say: I have no belief whatever in conventional moral codes, and no respect for them. To me the relations between men and women are simply questions of personal likes and dislikes⁠—”

“And of money,” she interrupted with a harsh little laugh. He winced and hesitated a moment.

“That, of course, is the ugly part of the matter. But believe me, if I had thought that you disliked me, or felt any repulsion to the thing, I would never have suggested it, or taken advantage of your position to persuade you to it. I have never done that to any woman in my life, and I have never told a woman a lie about my feeling for her. You may trust me that I am speaking the truth⁠—”

He paused a moment, but she did not answer.

“I thought,” he went on; “that if a man is alone in the world and feels the need of⁠—of a woman’s presence about him, and if he can find a woman who is attractive to him and to whom he is not repulsive, he has a right to accept, in a grateful and friendly spirit, such pleasure as that woman is willing to give him, without entering into any closer bond. I saw no harm in the thing, provided only there is no unfairness or insult or deceit on either side. As for your having been in that relation with other men before I met you, I did not think about that. I merely thought that the connection would be a pleasant and harmless one for both of us, and that either was free to break it as soon as it became irksome. If I was mistaken⁠—if you have grown to look upon it differently⁠—then⁠—”

He paused again.

“Then?” she whispered, without looking up.

“Then I have done you a wrong, and I am very sorry. But I did not mean to do it.”

“You ‘did not mean’ and you ‘thought’⁠—Felice, are you made of cast iron? Have you never been in love with a woman in your life that you can’t see I love you?”

A sudden thrill went through him; it was so long since anyone had said to him: “I love you.” Instantly she started up and flung her arms round him.

“Felice, come away with me! Come away from this dreadful country and all these people and their politics! What have we got to do with them? Come away, and we will be happy together. Let us go to South America, where you used to live.”

The physical horror of association startled him back into self-control; he unclasped her hands from his neck and held them in a steady grasp.

“Zita! Try to understand what I am saying to you. I do not love you; and if I did I would not come away with you. I have my work in Italy, and my comrades⁠—”

“And someone else that you love better than me!” she cried out fiercely. “Oh, I could kill you! It is not your comrades you care about; it’s⁠—I know who it is!”

“Hush!” he said quietly. “You are excited and imagining things that are not true.”

“You suppose I am thinking of Signora Bolla? I’m not so easily duped! You only talk politics with her; you care no more for her than you do for me. It’s that Cardinal!”

The Gadfly started as if he had been shot.

“Cardinal?” he repeated mechanically.

“Cardinal Montanelli, that came here preaching in the autumn. Do you think I didn’t see your face when his carriage passed? You were as white as my pocket-handkerchief! Why, you’re shaking like a leaf now because I mentioned his name!”

He stood up.

“You don’t know what you are talking about,” he said very slowly and softly. “I⁠—hate the Cardinal. He is the worst enemy I have.”

“Enemy or no, you love