Silence again, and another spoonful at his dry lips. He whispered. “I’m glad I came.”
His friend had no words for this.
“Yes—glad. I know her better.” His voice gained strength, and his eyes turned again to Wareham. “I could have made her love me.”
“I have seen all along that you were the only man she liked,” the other said, with confidence.
“I don’t know.” His feeble hands beat up and down, as if he were indicating balance. “She’s not easy. If I’d lived, I couldn’t have given her up. Now,”—a sign stopped Wareham’s protest. “Yes, but I’m dog in the manger still.”
Wareham felt a cold clutch at his heart for which he loathed himself.
“Be what you like, Hugh,” he said quickly. “No one has so much right to speak as you,” and whatever his heart might say, his will would have bound itself irrevocably to his friend’s bidding.
“I want—you to have her,” Hugh sighed, turning away his face.
Once more the nurse looked in at the door, signifying disapproval. Wareham hastily nodded, and she withdrew her head. He had to put down his ear to catch Hugh’s next words—
“Don’t let us pretend—I’m dying—win her, Dick.”