“Let’s have them!”
“Jim saw you. Ah’m shocked!... He was over on Fou’th Avenue last week, surveying, and he says he stopped in at a funny little place there for a bite of lunch. And there he saw you in a corner with one of the waitresses——”
“Pshaw!” said Nick. “If that’s the worst he can do——”
“He said she was a right pretty girl. And sitting down at the table with you....”
“Very likely. Why not?”
Now Caroline had considered this tale of absolutely no importance, when she began. She had simply wished to bring it up so that they might have a little gallant badinage. But now it looked otherwise. Nick was really annoyed, and something more than annoyed. He evidently wished to get away from her and not to speak of this episode. Nick and a waitress! It hardly seemed credible; and yet Caroline was ready to believe the worst where men were concerned.
She went over to the piano and began to play; her one sure refuge from any difficult situation, and while she played, Nick slipped out of the room. He was curiously disturbed. This was the first time in five years that anyone had got word of his interviews with Rosaleen. He shrank with passionate sensitiveness from any intrusion into this secret world, this intangible, ineffable companionship.
Five years! He lighted a cigar and sat down to contemplate it, with pain, with limitless regret, and yet finding a sweet consolation in their silent fidelity.
For five years he had had to watch Rosaleen living that barren and difficult life....