“And yet,” she added—still laughing kindly, and all the half-virginal softness of her original nature coming into the wistfulness of her tone—“I’m so glad you came! You’re a good sort.” She held out her hand. “Listen, friend—when you think of me I hope you’ll say I was a good sort too.”
He reached out his arms, his hands trembling. “Ma’am,” said he, “I’m a married man. I had two children, onct. My father was a preacher. Ye was right, I’m startin’ out to be a preacher myself. I was startin’ out to do something in the world to hep the rest of them. But if ye hadn’t said what ye said jest now to me, I’d be willin’ to throw it all away for jest—for jest—for jest——”
How, he knew not, nor she, he caught her arms, soft and white, in the grip of his great hands, and stood looking down at her fiercely, she as helpless as a child in his grasp.
She was struggling to escape him now. “It’s not right!” said she. “I’m alone here—Oh, are you any kind of a man after all?”
At this he dropped her arms, his own falling lax.
“Why, of course I’m a man,” said he quietly. “Of course I am. That’s all I am. I’m a lost man, a damned one.”
“Go!” she whispered to him hoarsely. “I’m not worth that. Go on away, and leave me something decent to remember.” She heard the door close softly.
Within half an hour after Joslin had left, Polly Pendleton, unfinished cigarette in hand, turned in her cushioned armchair as she heard the strident call of the telephone.
“Yes?” she replied. “Who is it, please?... You, Jimmy?... No, don’t come up. I’m awfully busy to-day.... I’ve got to work.
“Who?—the wild man?... Keep him?... Ask him to stay here this winter? I should say not! I told him to get out of town!