She reddened and her eyes filled. “I can’t do that, Streff—I know I can’t!”
“Then what—?”
She hesitated, and brought out with lowered head: “Nick said he would write again—in a few days. I must wait—”
“Oh, naturally. Don’t do anything in a hurry.” Strefford also glanced at his watch. “Garcon, l’addition! I’m taking the train back to-night, and I’ve a lot of things left to do. But look here, my dear—when you come to a decision one way or the other let me know, will you? Oh, I don’t mean in the matter I’ve most at heart; we’ll consider that closed for the present. But at least I can be of use in other ways—hang it, you know, I can even lend you money. There’s a new sensation for our jaded palates!”
“Oh, Streff... Streff!” she could only falter; and he pressed on gaily: “Try it, now do try it—I assure you there’ll be no interest to pay, and no conditions attached. And promise to let me know when you’ve decided anything.”
She looked into his humorously puckered eyes, answering. Their friendly smile with hers.
“I promise!” she said.
XV.
That hour with Strefford had altered her whole perspective. Instead of possible dependence, an enforced return to the old life of connivances and concessions, she saw before her—whenever she chose to take them—freedom, power and dignity. Dignity! It was odd what weight that word had come to have for her. She had dimly felt its significance, felt the need of its presence in her inmost soul, even in the young thoughtless days when she had seemed to sacrifice so little to the austere divinities. And since she had been Nick Lansing’s wife she had consciously acknowledged it, had suffered and agonized when she fell beneath its standard. Yes: to marry Strefford would give her that sense of self-respect which, in such a world as theirs, only wealth and position could ensure. If she had not the mental or moral training to attain independence in any other way, was she to blame for seeking it on such terms?
Of course there was always the chance that Nick would come back, would find life without her as intolerable as she was finding it without him. If that happened—ah, if that happened! Then she would cease to strain her eyes into the future, would seize upon the present moment and plunge into it to the very bottom of oblivion. Nothing on earth would matter then—money or freedom or pride, or her precious moral dignity, if only she were in Nick’s arms again!