“A man cannot live to my age—I am fifty-two, Miss Leigh—without experiencing disappointment, but I have known nothing equal to this.”
He paced the room a few moments, and then said:
“This interview must be distressing to you. I am very sorry I brought it about before you were strong and well.”
“Say one thing before you go, Mr. Gregory,” I cried, “only say that you don’t think I have willfully misled you—say that you respect me still.”
His face was stirred by a slight quiver, as a placid lake is stirred by an impulse of the evening air.
“You have had, and you always will have my deepest respect, and my deepest affection.”
He took my hand silently, and then quietly left the room.
And I sat there until I heard the front door close. Then I went upstairs, but I remember nothing after reaching the first landing.
They found me lying there. They said I must have fainted.