“He doesn’t ask it of you; I’m charged to say so. He understands fully.... He would be prepared to begin his life again anywhere.... It lies with you....”
There was a silence. At length she mastered her voice enough to say: “Yes; I know. I’m very grateful. It’s a comfort to me....”
“No more?”
She waited again, and then, lifting her eyes, caught once more the understanding look in his.
“I don’t know how to tell you—how to explain. It seems to me ... my refusing ...” she lowered her voice still more ... “the one thing that keeps me from being too hopeless, too unhappy.”
She saw the first tinge of perplexity in his gaze. “The fact of refusing?”
“The fact of refusing.”
Ah, it was useless; he would never understand! How could she have imagined that he would?
“But is this really your last word; the very last?” he questioned mildly.
“Oh, it has to be—it has to be. It’s what I live by,” she almost sobbed.