"You made me."
"I! But of course I didn't mean—"
"How could I be anything else—after all you said! With Magda there! It was—impossible! You did it!"
Amy caught one of Bee's hands, and it hung in her grasp like a thing without life.
"I was wrong—I knew I was wrong at the time," she said penitently. "It was horrid of me. That was why I couldn't sleep without seeing you again. I suppose—I suppose it was jealousy. Just a touch of it, you know. Bee—" and she caressed the cold fingers—"of course jealousy is always horrid. But don't you think there is just some little excuse for me? You have always been mine, and nothing before has ever come between us. And now—Oh, I see, it has to be. I see you can't help it. Nothing and nobody is anything to you, in comparison with—him! I must make up my mind to it, and learn to play second fiddle. Or rather—to play no fiddle at all. That's what it really means—" and she tried to laugh. "I shall be out of the orchestra altogether. But it isn't quite easy for me—is it, darling? You'll forgive—won't you? Though I was rather horrid this afternoon. I'll never do it again. And things will soon come right."
"Please leave me alone!" was all that she had in reply.
"Won't you just say first that you forgive me?"
The silence following seemed long. Bee's head dropped.
"I—can't!" came at length. "I—can't—yet! If only you would go!"
"It makes me wretched to think of leaving you like this."