"Yes. That's what I meant."
"Do you intend me to get out of New York, to go back to the South—?"
She lifted her hand in protestation.
"I'm not giving orders or making conditions. New York is large. There's room in it for you and Evie, too."
"I dare say. One doesn't require much space to break one's heart in."
"Evie wouldn't break her heart. I know her better than you do. She'd suffer for a while, but she'd get over it, and in the end, very soon probably—marry some one else."
"How cruel you can be," he said, with a twisted smile.
"I can be, when it's right. In this case I'm only as cruel as—the truth. I'm saying it because it must make things easier for you. Your own pain will be the less from the knowledge that, in time, Evie will get over hers."
"I suppose it ought to be, but—"
He did not finish his sentence, and again there was a long hush, during which, while she continued to gaze pensively at the fire, she could hear him shifting with nervous frequency in his chair. When at last she ventured to look at him he was bowed forward, his elbow supported on his knee, and his forehead resting on his hand.