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Stroeve had always been excitable, but now he was beside himself; there was no reasoning with him. I thought it probable enough that Blanche Stroeve would not continue to find life with Strickland tolerable, but one of the falsest of proverbs is that you must lie on the bed that you have made.
"I think I know now why you surrendered to your feeling for Blanche Stroeve," I said to him. "Why?" "I think your courage failed. The weakness of your body communicated itself to your soul. I do not know what infinite yearning possesses you, so that you are driven to a perilous, lonely search for some goal where you expect to find a final release from the spirit that torments you.
In half an hour the Dutchman, looking at his watch, announced that he must go. He asked whether I would come too. I thought, alone, I might get something out of Strickland, and so answered that I would stay. When the fat man had left I said: "Dirk Stroeve thinks you're a great artist." "What the hell do you suppose I care?" "Will you let me see your pictures?" "Why should I?"
He showed a skill I should never have credited him with in finding the places where the unhappy Dutchman was most sensitive. Strickland employed not the rapier of sarcasm but the bludgeon of invective. The attack was so unprovoked that Stroeve, taken unawares, was defenceless. He reminded you of a frightened sheep running aimlessly hither and thither. He was startled and amazed.
Stroeve went twice a day to the hospital to enquire after his wife, who still declined to see him; and came away at first relieved and hopeful because he was told that she seemed to be growing better, and then in despair because, the complication which the doctor had feared having ensued, recovery was impossible.
This is what I wrote: DEAR MRS. STROEVE, <i Dirk wishes me to tell you that if at any time you want him he will be grateful for the opportunity of being of service to you. He has no ill-feeling towards you on account of anything that has happened. His love for you is unaltered. You will always find him at the following address:>
"Leave me alone," she said, not unkindly; and then to me, trying to smile: "What must you think of me?" Stroeve, looking at her with perplexity, hesitated. His forehead was all puckered, and his red mouth set in a pout. He reminded me oddly of an agitated guinea-pig. "Then it's No, darling?" he said at last. She gave a gesture of lassitude. She was exhausted. "The studio is yours.
Strickland gave me a glance, and evidently did not recognise me. He resumed his scrutiny of the chess-board. "Sit down, and don't make a noise," he said. He moved a piece and straightway became absorbed in the game. Poor Stroeve gave me a troubled look, but I was not disconcerted by so little. I ordered something to drink, and waited quietly till Strickland had finished.
I thought that among those surroundings, with their recollections of his boyhood, Dirk Stroeve would forget his unhappiness. But he would not go. "I must be here when she needs me," he repeated. "It would be dreadful if something terrible happened and I were not at hand." "What do you think is going to happen?" I asked. "I don't know. But I'm afraid." I shrugged my shoulders.
I suggested that he should get a thermometer, and a few grapes, and some bread. Stroeve, glad to make himself useful, clattered down the stairs. "Damned fool," muttered Strickland. I felt his pulse. It was beating quickly and feebly. I asked him one or two questions, but he would not answer, and when I pressed him he turned his face irritably to the wall. The only thing was to wait in silence.
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