She was seeing herself clearly now and speaking from the depths of her soul.
“Maybe it isn’t all my fault. And you’re wonderful, Don. It’s that which makes me see myself.”
He kissed her hand. “Dear you,” he whispered, “I know the woman ’way down deep in you, and it’s she I want.”
She shook her head.
“No,” she answered. “It’s some woman you’ve placed there––some woman who might have been there––that you see. But she isn’t there, because––because I can’t go with you.”
Some woman he had put there. He looked at the stars, and the little star by the Big Dipper was shining steadily at him. He passed his hand over his forehead.
“If she were really in me, she’d go with you to-morrow,” Frances ran on excitedly. “She’d want to get into the game. She’d want to be hungry with you, and she wouldn’t care about anything else in the world but you. She––she’d want to suffer, Don. She’d be almost glad that you had no money. Her father wouldn’t count, because she’d care so much.”
She drew her cape about her shoulders.