“That—that coward has broken your heart,” he said. There were tears in his voice, and, looking up now, the smile stiffened to a resolute grimace, she saw them running down his cheeks. But her own face did not soften. With a glib dryness she answered:
“Oh—“ It was a long growl over her head.
She had looked away again, and continued in the same crisp voice: “I’d lie if I could, you may be sure. But you put it so, you look so, that I can’t. I’m at your mercy. You know what I feel, so I can’t hide it from you. I hate any one, even you, to know what I feel. Help me to hide it.”
“What has he done?” Grainger asked on the muffled, growling note.
“Gavan? Done? He’s done nothing.”
“But something happened. You aren’t where you were when I left you. You weren’t breaking down then.”
“Hope deferred, Jim—“
“It’s not that. Don’t fence, to shield him. It’s not hope deferred. It’s hope dead. Something happened. What was it?”
“All that happened was that he went, when I thought that he was going to stay, forever.”