Once more he met her glance. “Yes, Jeanne,” he said, very low, “there is.”
On the instant, her eyes flamed; instinctively she drew back, and Carleton, freed from her grasp, started to his feet. She rose also, quivering from head to foot.
“It’s that Graham girl!” she cried. “That doll! Don’t do it Jack! Don’t marry her! She’d never love you the way I would. Don’t do it, Jack! We can have such a good time. I’ve got some money; we can get more. We can go abroad together. You’ve made me love you, Jack; you can’t cast me off now. It isn’t fair. I’m not asking much. You can have me Jack, the whole of me—as long as you want me—and then, when you’re tired of me, you can leave me, and go your way. Jack, please—”
She stood there, breathing quick and hard, and gazing at him with such a look on her face that half against his will, he stepped forward, and took her hand in his. “Jeanne,” he said, “God knows I’m sorry. I never meant things to end like this; I never thought you really cared. But I can’t do what you say. It is Marjory Graham; I’ve asked her to marry me, and I’ve promised her, this very night, to live straight from now on. Don’t think it’s easy for me, dear; it isn’t. Don’t think I don’t appreciate—everything. But we wouldn’t be happy, Jeanne—either of us. It wouldn’t be right; it wouldn’t be square; we’d both regret—we mustn’t do it, Jeanne. I’m sorry, from the bottom of my heart, if I’ve hurt you; but I never meant it. You must go your way, Jeanne; and I must go mine.”
Even as he spoke, his heart smote him. The girl stood, her eyes cast down, her breast heaving—“My way,” she muttered, half under her breath. “My way; oh, God!” and then, slowly and uncertainly, she lifted her eyes to his and Carleton saw that they were filled with tears. For the first time she seemed to realize her dismissal, and to accept it. “Very well,” she said wearily, “I’ll go,” and then, after a pause, “kiss me, Jack.”
Carleton bent and kissed her; then, almost roughly, released her, and as she turned away, stood silent, with averted face, not daring to trust himself to look.
The silence deepened. Then, very softly, the door closed. He raised his eyes. He was alone in the room. Like a man physically spent, he threw himself down into the arm-chair, and buried his face in his hands.