“Have you nothing to say to me—not one word?” she said, repeating his words mockingly. “No; better not; it would be of no use. We know each other, as you think; but you are wrong. You don’t know me; you never have known me!”
He found his voice at last.
“Esmeralda!” he said, hoarsely.
She turned away with a little weary, impatient gesture.
“I am tired!” she said, with a quiver of the lips, but with no abatement of her pride and hauteur. “I do not wish to hear any more! Surely you must have said all you have to say! I quite understand what you want me to do. I know that you and I can not go on living together under the same roof. I will think over what you said, and—I will do as I please! Will you go now? I’ve told you I’m very tired!”
A storm was raging within him. He strode across the room and caught her by the arm.
“Come back to me, Esmeralda!” he said, almost inarticulately.
For a moment’s space, the half of a second, she wavered, then she drew her arm from his grasp.
“You, a gentleman, ask me—believing me to be what you say—to come back to you!”
She laughed discordantly. The laugh struck him like the cut of a whip. He stood looking at her, his breath coming fast and thickly; then, with set lips, he walked to the door. With his hand upon the handle, he looked over his shoulder at her—a long and lingering look in which a man’s agony was expressed. Then he went out and the door closed upon him.