“No—no.” With her low protest, the girl drew back into her chair; clutched its arms; closed her eyes, as if against the perception.
From his abject position at her feet, the young man straightened and clasped together his hands so viciously that nails cut into flesh. The white spots pressed by his teeth into his lower lip spread backward until even his ears were pale.
“That’s the worst of it,” he said effortfully. “The best is that I could have roused you, could rouse you now. But I won’t. I know the tinder you are made of. That first day I realized that my self-respect was only auto-hypnotized, not dead. The feeling for you that restrained me has grown—has given me the strength to tell you the truth and ask your help.”
“But if you despise yourself and your life,” Dolores faltered, “why not help yourself?”
“Don’t you know that a bad habit soon masters one? The damnable thing has got me, that’s why. It will take something stronger than contempt for myself to get me out. That something is my respect for you. The fact that I didn’t—that I simply couldn’t——” His fingers forward-stretching, but clutching only air, his face again florid from a return rush of blood, he urged: “You—I need you. God, I am mad for you. Have been all along. But I want you to keep. I want you enough to change my whole life to have you. I know I am a crude sort—that I’m not what they call to the manner born. But I swear to give you a square deal. I don’t care what they say about you. I believe in you. I want to marry you—to take you off somewhere, so that you and I—— Surely you love me, Dolores? Surely you will——”
The pause was long. During it he seized her limp hand, then dropped it. He staggered to his feet and stood looking down at her with the dread gaze of despair. When he spoke again, his lips worked clumsily.
“So. I’m too late. You’re a snuffed candle to me. That means—Mr. Other Man. The reward of my sacrifice is—punishment. It’s a beautiful sentiment. I’ll tell the world that. She was speaking the truth for once, then, about you and John Cabot? All right. I quit. I’m through.”
Dolores watched him fling into his overcoat, pick up his hat and start for the door. She wished to say something that would help him. She owed him consideration as the only man who had asked her to marry him. That he had asked her soothed an ache in her mind. She liked him and she feared for him. But what was there she could say?
Without a word she had refused him. Without a word she let him go.
The American vernacular “breezed in” might have been inspired by the entries of Rufus Holt. Less boisterous than a gale, stronger than a zephyr, something refreshing and promising came with him, like the tonic in the breath of Spring.