Then at last she spoke more gently
than I had ever heard her, and a glow came upon her face.
"I am only human. You have me at advantage. What woman could reply
unkindly to a speech like that? I admit I thought you held me utterly bad
and heartless, and it made me bitter. . . . I had no heart--once. I had
only a wrong, an injury, which was in my mind; not mine, but another's,
and yet mine. Then strange things occurred. . . . At last I relented. I
saw that I had better go. Yesterday I saw that; and I am going--that is
all. . . . I wished to keep the edge of my intercourse with you sharp and
uncompanionable to the end; but you have forced me at my weakest
point. . . ." Here she smiled somewhat painfully. . . . "Believe me, that
is the way to turn a woman's weapon upon herself. You have learned much
since we first met. . . . Here is my hand in friendliness, if you care to
take it; and in good-bye, should we not meet again more formally before I
go."
"I wish now that your husband, Boyd Madras, were here," I said.
She answered nothing, but she did not resent it, only shuddered a little.
Our hands grasped silently.
Pages:
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407