"I wouldn't marry him if he doesn't want to. Of course I wouldn't. I wouldn't marry him now for anything.

"But it does seem to me to be a little late now, after we've waited three years, and I've just gotten my divorce."

I said nothing. "We were going to celebrate so, and instead we've just had scenes. It's so childish. We have dreadful scenes, and he cries and begs me to be reasonable, but he says he just can't do it."

"It's rotten luck." "I should say it is rotten luck. I've wasted two years and a half on him now. And I don't know now if any man will ever want to marry me.

Two years ago I could have married anybody I wanted, down at Cannes (戛纳). All the old ones that wanted to marry somebody chic and settle down were crazy about me. Now I don't think I could get anybody."

"Sure, you could marry anybody." "No, I don't believe it. And I'm fond of him, too. And I'd like to have children. I always thought we'd have children."

She looked at me very brightly. "I never liked children much, but I don't want to think I'll never have them.

I always thought I'd have them and then like them." "He's got children."

"Oh, yes. He's got children, and he's got money, and he's got a rich mother, and he's written a book, and nobody will publish my stuff, nobody at all.

It isn't bad, either. And I haven't got any money at all. I could have had alimony, but I got the divorce the quickest way."

She looked at me again very brightly. "It isn't right. It's my own fault and it's not, too.

I ought to have known better. And when I tell him he just cries and says he can't marry.

Why can't he marry? I'd be a good wife. I'm easy to get along with. I leave him alone. It doesn't do any good."

"It's a rotten shame." "Yes, it is a rotten shame. But there's no use talking about it, is there? Come on, let's go back to the café."

"And of course there isn't anything I can do." "No. Just don't let him know I talked to you.

I know what he wants." Now for the first time she dropped her bright, terribly cheerful manner.

"He wants to go back to New York alone, and be there when his book comes out so when a lot of little chickens like it. That's what he wants."

"Maybe they won't like it. I don't think he's that way. Really."

"You don't know him like I do, Jake. That's what he wants to do. I know it. I know it.

That's why he doesn't want to marry. He wants to have a big triumph this fall all by himself."

"Want to go back to the café?" "Yes. Come on."

We got up from the table--they had never brought us a drink-- and started across the street toward the Select, where Cohn sat smiling at us from behind the marble-topped table.

"Well, what are you smiling at?" Frances asked him. "Feel pretty happy?"

"I was smiling at you and Jake with your secrets."

"Oh, what I've told Jake isn't any secret. Everybody will know it soon enough. I only wanted to give Jake a decent version."

"What was it? About your going to England?"

"Yes, about my going to England. Oh, Jake! I forgot to tell you. I'm going to England."

"Isn't that fine!" "Yes, that's the way it's done in the very best families.

Robert's sending me. He's going to give me two hundred pounds and then I'm going to visit friends.

Won't it be lovely? The friends don't know about it, yet."

She turned to Cohn and smiled at him. He was not smiling now.

"You were only going to give me a hundred pounds, weren't you, Robert? But I made him give me two hundred.

He's really very generous. Aren't you, Robert?"

I do not know how people could say such terrible things to Robert Cohn.

There are people to whom you could not say insulting things.

They give you a feeling that the world would be destroyed, would actually be destroyed before your eyes, if you said certain things.

But here was Cohn taking it all. Here it was, all going on right before me, and I did not even feel an impulse to try and stop it. And this was friendly joking to what went on later.

"How can you say such things, Frances?" Cohn interrupted.

"Listen to him. I'm going to England. I'm going to visit friends.

Ever visit friends that didn't want you? Oh, they'll have to take me, all right. How do you do, my dear?

Such a long time since we've seen you. And how is your dear mother?

' Yes, how is my dear mother? She put all her money into French war bonds. Yes, she did. Probably the only person in the world that did. And what about Robert?'

or else very careful talking around Robert. You must be most careful not to mention him, my dear. Poor Frances has had a most unfortunate experience.

Won't it be fun, Robert? Don't you think it will be fun, Jake?"

She turned to me with that terribly bright smile. It was very satisfactory to her to have an audience for this.

"And where are you going to be, Robert? It's my own fault, all right. Perfectly my own fault.

When I made you get rid of your little secretary on the magazine I ought to have known you'd get rid of me the same way.

Jake doesn't know about that. Should I tell him?"

"Shut up, Frances, for God's sake."

"Yes, I'll tell him. Robert had a little secretary on the magazine.

Just the sweetest little thing in the world, and he thought she was wonderful, and then I came along and he thought I was pretty wonderful, too.

So I made him get rid of her, and he had brought her to Provincetown from Carmel when he moved the magazine, and he didn't even pay her fare back to the coast.

All to please me. He thought I was pretty fine, then. Didn't you, Robert?

"You mustn't misunderstand, Jake, it was absolutely platonic with the secretary. Not even platonic. Nothing at all, really. It was just that she was so nice.

And he did that just to please me. Well, I suppose that we that live by the sword shall perish by the sword.

Isn't that literary, though? You want to remember that for your next book, Robert."

"You know Robert is going to get material for a new book. Aren't you, Robert? That's why he's leaving me. He's decided I don't film well."

“You see, he was so busy all the time that we were living together, writing on this book, that he doesn't remember anything about us."

“So now he's going out and get some new material. Well, I hope he gets something frightfully interesting."

"Listen, Robert, dear. Let me tell you something. You won't mind, will you?

“Don't have scenes with your young ladies. Try not to. Because you can't have scenes without crying, and then you pity yourself so much you can't remember what the other person's said.

“You'll never be able to remember any conversations that way. Just try and be calm.

“I know it's awfully hard. But remember, it's for literature. We all ought to make sacrifices for literature.

“Look at me. I'm going to England without a protest. All for literature.

“We must all help young writers. Don't you think so, Jake? But you're not a young writer.

“Are you, Robert? You're thirty-four. Still, I suppose that is young for a great writer.

“Look at Hardy. Look at Anatole France. He just died a little while ago.

“Robert doesn't think he's any good, though. Some of his French friends told him.

“He doesn't read French very well himself. He wasn't a good writer like you are, was he, Robert?

“Do you think he ever had to go and look for material? What do you suppose he said to his mistresses when he wouldn't marry them?

I wonder if he cried, too? Oh, I've just thought of something."

She put her gloved hand up to her lips. "I know the real reason why Robert won't marry me, Jake.

“It's just come to me. They've sent it to me in a vision in the café Select.

“Isn't it mystic? Some day they'll put a tablet up. Like at Lourdes (卢尔德). Do you want to hear, Robert?

“I'll tell you. It's so simple. I wonder why I never thought about it.

“Why, you see, Robert's always wanted to have a mistress, and if he doesn't marry me, why, then he's had one.

“She was his mistress for over two years. See how it is? And if he marries me, like he's always promised he would, that would be the end of all the romance.

"Don't you think that's bright of me to figure that out? It's true, too. Look at him and see if it's not. Where are you going, Jake?"

"I've got to go in and see Harvey Stone a minute."

Cohn looked up as I went in. His face was white. Why did he sit there? Why did he keep on taking it like that?

As I stood against the bar looking out I could see them through the window.

Frances was talking on to him, smiling brightly, looking into his face each time she asked: "Isn't it so, Robert?"

Or maybe she did not ask that now. Perhaps she said something else.

I told the barman I did not want anything to drink and went out through the side door.

As I went out the door I looked back through the two thicknesses of glass and saw them sitting there.

She was still talking to him. I went down a side street to the Boulevard Raspail (拉斯拜尔大街).

A taxi came along and I got in and gave the driver the address of my flat.