Tony looked sharply at her. She was sincere--surely she was sincere.
"You thought that?" he exclaimed; and he replaced her chair at the table. "Sit down here! Let me understand! You thought that I had ceased to care for you? When I ceased to write, I suppose?"
Millie shook her head.
"Before that?"
Tony dropped into the chair on which Callon had been sitting.
"Before that?" he exclaimed in perplexity. "When? Tell me!"
Millie sat over against him at the table.
"Do you remember the evening when you first told me that you had made up your mind to go away and make a home for both of us? It was on that evening. You gave your reason for going away. We had begun to quarrel--we were drifting apart."
"I remember," said Tony; "but we had not ceased to care then, neither you nor I. It was just because I feared that at some time we might cease to care that I was resolved to go away."
"Ah," said Millie; "but already the change had begun. Yes, yes! Things winch you thought you never could remember without a thrill you remembered already with indifference--you remembered them without being any longer moved or touched by the associations which they once had had. I recollect the very words you used. I sat as still as could be while you spoke them; but I never forgot them, Tony. There was a particular instance which you mentioned--a song----" And suddenly Tony laughed; but he laughed harshly, and there was no look of amusement on his face. Millie stared at him in surprise, but he did not explain, and she went on with her argument.