"Why don't you notice Yetta Rayefsky?"
"Yetta Rayefsky?" he repeated in amazement.
"Yes. Why not? She's a fine girl, and she worships the ground you walk on."
"You're joking."
"Not at all. I know what I'm talking about. Perhaps she doesn't realize it herself, but she's very much in love with you."
"The poor little girl!"
"Yes. Of course. You ought to be sorry for her. You don't deserve it. But when it comes to that, did any man ever live who really deserved to have a woman love him? That's the tragedy of our sex. We have nothing better to love than mere men."
There were no heroics over their separation. They went to town for supper. They were both sufficiently civilized to keep up the appearance of gayety.
Just before the train started she leaned out of the window of her compartment and tossed him a final challenge.
"Walter," she said, "I'm more fortunate than you. I know what I'm going to do next. Better not waste time deciding. You know what my advice is. Go back to New York and get married."