“Look here!” said Ross. “Let him tell. If this Gayle of yours cares for you, he’ll stand by you. If he doesn’t, you’re well rid of him. No; just wait a minute! Don’t you see? You can’t lie to a man you’re—fond of. You—”
“I’m not going to lie. I’ll just say nothing. The thing is over, Jimmy; over and done with. Mustn’t I even have a chance? Jimmy, I’m young! I’m sorry—God knows I’m sorry for what I did—but it’s done. Nothing can undo it. Won’t you—won’t you let me have just a chance?”
“But look here! Even if the man didn’t come tonight, he’d come some other time. You don’t expect me to—”
He stopped short, appalled by the words he had not spoken. He looked at her, and in the gathering dusk he saw upon her white face that terrible, still look again.
“No!” he cried.
“Jimmy!” she said. “Just keep him from coming tonight. Then tomorrow I’ll tell you the whole thing. And perhaps you’ll think of something to do. But—just tonight—keep him from coming!”
Ross made no answer.
“Down here, Jimmy—to the left,” she said, presently, and he turned the car down a solitary lane, narrow, scored with ruts of half frozen mud. It had grown so dark now that he turned on the headlights.
“There!” she said. “That’s the house. Let me out!”
He stopped the car.