“I can’t do it!” he said, quietly. “She wants to leave me, and I must let her.”
“But you’ll see her?”
“No. Please don’t ask me any more. It’s settled. I’m sorry—on your account. I should be glad to do it for you—if I could. But I can’t.”
He went toward the chair where his coat lay and was about to put it on, when the door opened and Andrée entered. He turned and faced her. Her cheeks were rosy from the damp air, her black hair curled about her forehead; her mother looked at her loveliness with a beating heart. Surely he could not resist her!
But he picked up his cap and threw his coat over his arm.
“Good-night!” he said.
The front door closed after him.
§ iii
Not fifteen minutes ahead of him Malloy was making his way to the ferry.
“My God, what a mess!” he was saying over and over to himself. He had never in his life felt so shabby, so shamefaced, as he had felt that evening. There was no triumph in this love; he was a thief. He had mortally stricken that poor little chap. He had humiliated and hurt Edna. He had involved himself and Andrée in a disgusting scandal.