She sat up, letting go my hand. I propped the pillows under her. She signed to me to seat myself further away from her.
“She is mine. She is mine,” I kept thinking to myself. “We belong to one another whatever she says.”
“I shall be better soon,” she said; “then I can go away. You must try to forget that you ever knew me.”
“I can never forget. I shall wait for you.” Then the old treacherous argument came to me, though it was sincerely spoken. “Why need we go out of one another’s lives? Vi dearest, can’t we be friends?”
She hesitated. “I was thinking of you when I said it. For me it would be easier; I have Dorrie to live for. It would be more difficult for you—you are a man.”
“Can’t you trust me, Vi? You told me that he trusted you just now.”
Her voice was thin and tired. “Could we ever be only friends?”
“We must try—we can pretend.”
“But such trials all have one ending.”
“Ours won’t.”