Then he turned aside, and for an instant or two there was a silence.
"I suppose it would not be wise," he continued, at last. "But I wish that it could have been done. It would be better in many ways. A man and wife ought to live together. A girl ought to live with her parents. We are all in false positions. And, perhaps, if any one is to be sacrificed, it ought to be myself," he said, with a curious smile.
"You forget," said Mrs. Romaine with emotion, "that you sacrifice others in sacrificing yourself."
"Others? No, I don't think so. You allude to my sister?"
"No—not your sister."
"Sophy could go on living with us and managing the household affairs," said Brooke, who had no conception of what poor Mrs. Romaine meant; "and she is not a person who would willingly interfere with other people's views or opinions. Indeed, she carries the laisser-faire principle almost to an extreme. Sophy is no proselytizer, thank God!"
"I did not mean Sophy: I meant your friends—old friends like myself," said Rosalind, desperately. "You will cast us all off—you will forget us—forget—me!"
There was unusual passion in her voice. Then she hid her face in her hands and burst into tears. Brooke made two steps towards her, and stopped short.
"Rosalind!" he exclaimed. "You cannot think that! you cannot think that I shall ever forget old friends!"
Then he halted, and stood looking down at her, and biting his beard, which he was crushing up to his lips with one hand, after his fashion when he was embarrassed or perplexed. Some glimmer of the truth had begun to manifest itself to him. A hot, red flush crossed his brow.