"Then perhaps," she answered, with a new coldness in her tone,
"perhaps I really do not care. No, don't interrupt me. I think that I
am a little disappointed in you. You appear to be amongst those strong
enough in all ordinary matters, but who seem to think it quite
natural and proper to give in at once and play the weakling
directly--one cares. Do you think that it makes for happiness to force
oneself into the extravagant belief that love is the only thing in the
world worth having, and to sacrifice for it independence,
self-respect, one's whole scheme of life. I cannot do it, David.
Perhaps, as you say, I do not really care--but I cannot do it."
He was strangely silent. He did not even reply to her for several
minutes.
"I cannot reason with you," he said at last wearily. "I speak from my
heart, and you answer from your brain."
"Believe me that I have answered you wisely," she said, in a gentler
tone, "wisely for you too, as well as myself. And now you must go
back, take up your work and think all this over. Presently you will
see that I am right, and then you shall take your vacation over here,
and we will be good comrades again."
He smiled bitterly as he handed her from the cab. He declined to come
in.
"Will you tell Sydney that I will see him in the morning," he said. "I
am staying at the Savoy. He can come round there."
"You will shake hands with me, please," she begged.
He took her fingers and lifted his eyes to hers. Something he saw
there made him feel for a moment ashamed. He pressed the long shapely
hand warmly in his.
"Good-bye," he said earnestly. "Please forgive me. You are right.
Quite right."
She was able to go straight to her room without delay, and she at once
locked the door with a little sigh of relief. She found herself
struggling with a storm of tears.
A sob was strangled in her throat. She struggled fiercely not to give
way.
"Oh, I am lonely," she moaned. "I am lonely. If I could but----"
* * * * * To escape from her thoughts she began to undress, humming a light tune
to herself, though her eyes were hot with unshed tears, and the sobs
kept rising in her throat. As she drew off her skirt she felt
something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the
commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. She tore open the
envelope and read it.
"MY DEAR GIRL,-"I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. The fact
is I was so glad to see you again that it never occurred to me
that a little discretion might be advisable. I'm afraid I'm a
terribly clumsy fellow.