Sylva

We decided on a halfway course: to forestall her questions, Na

“Didn’t I tell you the answer a long time ago?” he answered with kindly earnestness. “I told you so the first day: you can’t get away with it without marrying her.”

It was quite true, and to think that at the time I had taken those words for a joke in poor taste! Everything went to show today that he had been right, that any other solution would do Sylva, and later her child, an irreparable wrong. It followed, rather paradoxically, that it would be very much better for everybody if the child had been unquestionably mine; and much better, too, if I had shown less self-control as regards my vixen instead of straining her virtue to the point of compelling her to that springtime escapade when she had met her gorilla. But if so, what on earth are the laws of decency and propriety founded on? Could they have such shaky foundations that I had transgressed them when trying so hard to respect them?

All this opened once again most equivocal and dubious vistas on the merits of morality. It seemed to show that its principles were quite fortuitous, and that one should always be prepared to call them into question in changed circumstances. However this might be, in the present situation there was only one remedy: marriage. At heart, I rather rejoiced over this obligation which gratified my i

Still, though more than half decided, I remained passive and took no steps. I was well aware of the sole rather ticklish obstacle to our marriage and yet did nothing to overcome it: Sylva still had not the least scrap of a lawful existence. She was not born, not even of unknown parents, and I had not so far found a subterfuge to get over this lack of identity. The idea of resorting to forged papers was distasteful to me. I therefore waited for a brain wave, telling myself that there was no hurry. But the truth was, I am afraid, that I am not lionhearted. Deep inside me I was worried about what people would say. I was frightened of the difficult moments that were certainly in store for me in our milieu if I married this “native,” as Dorothy had said-and an unmarried mother to boot! I had a tendency to forget my stout new maxim about what constituted the quality of a being when I was faced with the effort that would be needed to impress others with its truth. I kept thinking more of myself than of Sylva.

In the meanwhile, Sylva was getting bigger. She also began to wonder what her baby would be like. Never having seen one, she had the most fantastic ideas about it. Na

Na

This was her fourth escapade within a few months, and I was begi

She had taken clothes, lingerie and toilet things with her. To go where? Certainly not very far; she was still too unsure of herself to travel alone, or to go up to town. Jeremy’s hut? I realized with a happy sigh of relief that I no longer feared she might have joined him. That period lay well in the past. I shall cut short the account of my searches and deductions, for in any case they did not have much time to operate. A message from the i

After some thought I decided not to force her to come back at once. Instead I sent Mrs. Bumley to reco

Sylva let her talk, her eyes fixed on her, and when Na

During the following days Sylva refused to see even Na

“In the first place,” she said, “you can be sure that your little vixen loves you-even if her brand-new heart has not yet told her how.”

Besides, good old Na

If my candid Sylva had been a cu

If what Sylva wanted was to open my eyes to the power and true nature of my affection for her, she succeeded in this most marvelously, for I no longer slept and only thought of one thing: our marriage. I had plenty of leisure during those sleepless nights to realize with striking clarity what she would henceforth mean in my life. No longer only a woman (as for thinking of her as a vixen, a fox bitch still, I would have blushed with shame), no longer only a human being, but at last a “person”; yes, Sylva was now quite simply the one person on earth I loved, the person I wanted to live with, whom I would never yield to another, whom I would marry against the whole world, for I simply could no longer live without her.

And I am convinced that in marrying her I have done the wisest thing I ever did in my life. Sylva’s gentleness, her joy of life, her bubbling tenderness, her eagerness to learn about everything, have never ceased, nor has she ever given me cause to be anything but proud of her, and her charm and grace have brought me honor on many occasions. That is why I find it hard today to remember that silly time when people’s opinion kept me back, when my own mind was still clogged with stupid old prejudices. And I sometimes tremble at the thought that, were it not for that revealing absence, I might perhaps still be hesitant. But once the scales had fallen from my eyes, I was frantic with impatience and shrugged off the rest. The child? What matter if it looked like the gorilla or anyone else, I would not be the first man to take charge of a natural child for love of its mother; and who cared if “they” turned up their noses?

But I am bragging a little. In actual fact, I believe I secretly kept hoping that there would be a miscarriage or a stillborn child. Or that, if it did survive, it would resemble me. Or if not me, at least not too obviously the gorilla. And if it did… ah well, I would just have to make advance arrangements, see to it that the confinement was as discreet as possible so that I might, as a last resort, entrust the baby to some faraway crêche…