'
Arthur passed his hands wearily over his face.
'I'm so broken, so confused, that I cannot think sanely. At this moment
everything seems possible. My faith in all the truths that have supported
me is tottering.'
For a while they remained silent. Arthur's eyes rested on the chair in
which Margaret had so often sat. An unfinished canvas still stood upon
the easel. It was Dr Porhoet who spoke at last.
'But even if there were some truth in Miss Boyd's suppositions, I don't
see how it can help you. You cannot do anything. You have no remedy,
legal or otherwise. Margaret is apparently a free agent, and she has
married this man. It is plain that many people will think she has done
much better in marrying a country gentleman than in marrying a young
surgeon. Her letter is perfectly lucid. There is no trace of compulsion.
To all intents and purposes she has married him of her own free-will, and
there is nothing to show that she desires to be released from him or from
the passion which we may suppose enslaves her.'
What he said was obviously true, and no reply was possible.
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