The next instant Blossom had fled and the two were riding
on again down the turnpike.
"She looked so unhappy, Jonathan. I wonder what was the matter?"
"She was tired, probably." He despised himself for the evasion, for
his character was naturally an open one, and he heartily disliked
all subterfuge. Yet he implied the falsehood even while he hated the
necessity which forced him to it. So all his life he had done the things
that he condemned, condemning himself because he did them. For more
than a year now he had lived above a continuous undercurrent of
subterfuge--he had lied to Blossom, he had deceived his mother, he had
wilfully encouraged Molly to believe a falsehood--and yet all the time,
he was conscious that his nature preferred the honourable and the candid
course. His intentions were still honest, but long ago in his boyhood,
when he had first committed himself to impulse, he had prepared the way
for his subsequent failures. To-day, with a weakened will, with an ever
increasing sensitiveness of his nervous system, he knew that he should
go on desiring the good while he compromised with the pleasanter aspect
of evil.
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