There was all about her the atmosphere of that wild, windy night when, as she sat alone in the old house, he had rushed in to her like the very Magic of Youth....
Still looking down, she said presently:
"Won't you even let me be your true friend, Morris?"
Very huskily he said:
"Well.... I ought to be grateful for that much...."
It was all horribly sad. She felt faint with the wasteful, useless sadness of it all.
"What did you think of ... of proposing?" he asked, still in that husky, beaten voice.
Sophy's own voice trembled a little when she spoke.
"I think this, Morris," she said. "I think your life ought to be free ... to offer to Belinda."
"'Free'? ... to offer ... 'free'?" he gasped.