She bent her head a little, but her eyes held his. “Wint,” she said, so softly he could scarce hear her words. “Wint—I’m sorry. But—I can’t go on. I can’t—trust you, Wint. This is good-by.”
He felt himself shrink a little at the word; and he stood still for a moment till his senses steadied. Then he lifted his head a little.
“I don’t blame you,” he told her.
She said again: “Good-by!” And he nodded and echoed quietly:
“Good-by, Joan.”
For another moment, their eyes held each other. Then his dropped, and he turned and went down to the street again.
Half an hour later, Mrs. Moody was lighting the smoky-lamp in the office of the Weaver House when Wint came in. She saw him and grinned, and her teeth reflected the lamp’s light like pearls. “Why, hello, deary! Back again?” she called.
He nodded. “The same room, please,” he told her.
She bustled across to the stairs, and paused there and looked at him wisely “A little drop first, in the kitchen?” she invited.
He shook his head. “No—nothing.”