"I know what the end may mean, and I can't keep out of it."
"But I can not go with you." There was a stern note in Mrs. Herrick's voice.
Flora looked around the room, the sunny windows, the still shadows, the tall, monotonous clock, as if this were the last glimpse of peace and protection she would ever have. She rose and put out her hand.
"I'm afraid I didn't quite realize how much I was asking of you. You have been very good even to listen to me. It's right, I suppose, that I should go alone."
Mrs. Herrick looked at her in dismay. "But that is impossible!" Then, as Flora turned away, she kept her hand. "Think, think," she urged, "how you will be misunderstood."
"Oh, I shall have to bear that—from the people who don't know."
"Yes, and even from the one for whom you are spending yourself!"
Flora gave her head a quick shake. "He understands," she said.
"My dear, he is not worth it."
Flora turned on her with anger. "You don't know what he is worth to me!"