“That has nothing to do with it, sweetheart. I—I didn’t want to tell you about it, but Wainwright, down at the office, said something to me yesterday. He told me he would be at the circus last night and as much as said he’d be looking to see if we were there, too. Well, we weren’t there. Heaven knows what I’ll tell him next week.”
He waited for Cherry to answer, but she was silent.
He went on reasonably, “So if you could see your way clear to going out tonight—”
He stopped, slack-jawed. Cherry was crying, silently and in quantity.
“Darling!” he said inarticulately.
He hurried to her, but she fended him off. He stood helpless over her, watching her cry.
“Dear, what’s the matter?” he asked.
She turned her head away.
Morey rocked back on his heels. It wasn’t exactly the first time he’d seen Cherry cry—there had been that poignant scene when they Gave Each Other Up, realizing that their backgrounds were too far apart for happiness, before the realization that they had to have each other, no matter what… But it was the first time her tears had made him feel guilty.
And he did feel guilty. He stood there staring at her.