He stopped, hesitated.
“If I do not see you again——”
“But you will be obliged to see me,” she objected, “—to tell me.”
“No,” he said, and smiled slightly. “I shall not need to see you again; and—I may not——”
He held out his hand.
“Will you forgive me, Barbara?” he asked humbly.
“Forgive you?” she echoed.
“God knows I have need of your forgiveness. If I do not see you again—and it is quite possible that I may not. I am thinking of going away, of closing my house here. I may never return. But I want—I need to carry with me the certainty that you will sometimes think kindly of me. Not that I deserve it, but——”
His eyes, dark with pain, searched her face.
“I cannot bear to remember all that has passed between us. I know now that I was less than a man to threaten you—browbeat you, as I did. I hope you will believe me when I tell you I am hoping for your best—your truest, and most lasting happiness.”