Then Southerley tumbled into a chair, looking very queer about the eyes.
“Good lord! Do you mean it?”
“Rather.”
CHAPTER XXIV.
RECONCILIATION
Southerley dropped his head into his hands. His friend said nothing. What could he say? He did not like the look of those two strong, nervous hands with the sinews standing up like cords. He began to hum to himself, and to make a clatter with his hair-brushes.
Then Southerley looked up abruptly, his face haggard and wet.
“She might have told me. She might have trusted me,” he said hoarsely. “And I—if I hadn’t been such a great chuckle-headed fool I might have known, I might have known.”
Bayre was thankful to see that he took it so quietly.
“As to telling you,” he said gently, “I dare say it was better not to. Poor thing! What could she do for the best but what she has done? Just get away without any fuss or any scenes, and try to forget you, as she ought. It’s a hard case, an awfully hard case.”
“I must see her, I must!” cried Southerley, starting up.