“I couldn’t have done it, Joyce. I couldn’t have done it, even for your love. But you would not ask me to do such a craven act.”
“And yet you ask me to forsake my father, to be false to what I know is right.”
“Joyce, how can I answer you? I am dumb before your logic. But how can I pass the weary years which are to come?”
“You have passed two since we parted, and your college years need not be weary. They will not be weary. Have faith. When father learns how good, how noble, how true you are, he will give his consent. And Mark, my brother Mark, he will plead for me, I know.”
“Joyce, I am like a criminal awaiting pardon—a pardon which may never come.”
“Don’t say that. Now, Calhoun, we must part. Remember you are not to try to see me or write to me. But the moment father relents I will say, Come. It will not be long. Now go.”
Calhoun clasped her once more in his arms, pressed the farewell kiss on her lips, and left her.