"No," he acknowledged, with the shake of his shoulders I have known ever since we were children; "you are not to blame. It's only my infernal, sneaking self!"
I could not bear this, either. Everything that was said hurt me; and it seemed to me that I had borne all that I could endure.
"Will you go away now, Tom," I begged him. "I—I can't talk any more to-night. Shall I tell Julia you have come?"
He gave a start at the name, and swore under his breath.
"It is damnable for you to be here with that girl," he burst out bitterly; "and I brought it on you! It isn't your place, though. Where are all the Christians and church members? I suppose all the pious are too good to come. They might get their righteousness smudged. Oh, how I hate hypocrisy!"
"Don't, Tom," I interrupted. "Go away, please."
My voice was shaky; and indeed I was fast getting to the place where I should have broken down in hysterical weeping.
"I'll go," he responded quickly. "I'll come in the morning with a minister. Will eight o'clock do? I'd like to get it over with."
The bitterness of his tone was too much for me. I caught one of his hands in both of mine.
"Oh, Tom," I said, "are you quite sure this is what you ought to do?"