“Not one scrap because of business. Business was my excuse to my people. I had to tell them something.”
He was staring at her now. His soul stood beckoning in the windows of his eyes, watching for an answering signal.
It was her turn to glance away. She had wakened something which both thrilled and frightened her. She took refuge in disappointment.
“Then you didn’t mention me to them. My father doesn’t know. I wonder why you didn’t mention me. Was it because they—all those old-fashioned people—wouldn’t think me good enough?—No. No. Don’t touch me. Perhaps, after all, it’s better to be sensible. Let’s talk of something else.”
“We’ve got to finish this now that you’ve started it.” His face was stern and he spoke determinedly. “I’d have passed over everything, for your sake, Princess-gone on pretending to take things for granted. But-d’you think you’re fair to me? You said, ‘Come to America if you really care.’ I thought that meant that you’d begun to care.-I hope it does.”
She crossed her feet and resigned herself to the danger she had courted. “You’re spoiling a most glorious day; but I suppose it’s best to get things off one’s chest.” Then, in a composed, cool little voice, “Well?”
He surprised himself by a touch of anger. It came and was gone like a flicker of lightning.
“I’ve obeyed you,” he said slowly; “I’ve come. I’ve done everything decent that I could think of to keep you reminded of me. Since we said ’Good-by,’ I’ve known nothing but purgatory. Even happy things haven’t been happy, because you weren’t there to share. That’s the way I feel about you, Desire: whatever I am or can be must be for you. But you—— From the moment you sailed out of Liverpool, you dropped me. You didn’t answer my letters. You went out of New York the day I landed, leaving no message. When we met last night for five minutes, you were with another man. This morning for about half-an-hour you did seem glad, but since then——”
He bit his lips and watched her. Outwardly she seemed utterly unmoved. “Shall I go on?”
“Just as you like.”