“But tell me, speak to me. What ails you?”
“Why, it is nothing and it is everything,” Borgert answered with indifference.
“What do you mean by that, George? Talk sensibly, please.”
“What am I to say? I am done with the whole business. That is all.”
“Done! Done with what? How am I to understand you?”
“Done with everything,—with life and with myself.”
“You talk like a sphinx, George. Why not tell me frankly what has happened to you?”
“My money is gone. I’ll have to run away, or else there will be the deuce to pay.”
Borgert felt a tremor run through her body. She did not reply, but turned her face slowly away from him and stared at the window.
In his heart Borgert was thankful to her for receiving his communication with such composure, and not with the screams and hysterical sobbings which women habitually employ on occasions of the kind.