It seemed to him that giant hands seized on him then and crushed out of him his very life. Yet the pain of living went on remorselessly, and as if from a very great distance he heard Blanche’s voice.
“I am engaged to Lord Romiaux,” she said. “He had been in Norway on a fishing tour, but it was on the steamer that we first met. And then almost directly I knew that at Munkeggen it had all been quite a mistake, and that I had never really loved you. We met again at one of the watering-places in September, but it was only settled the day before yesterday. I wish—oh, how I wish—that I had written to tell you!”
She stood up impulsively and drew nearer to him.
“Is there nothing I can do to make up for my mistake?” she said, lifting pathetic eyes to his.
“Nothing.” he said bitterly.
“Oh, don’t think badly of me for it,” she pleaded. “Don’t hate me.”
“Hate you?” he exclaimed. “It will be the curse of my life that I love you—that you have made me love you.”
He turned as though to go away.
“Don’t go without saying good-by,” she exclaimed; and her eyes said more plainly than words, “I do not mind if you kiss me just once more.”
He paused, ice one minute, fire the next, yet through it all aware that his conscience was urging him to go without delay.