“You mean—the promise—but, Freddy, I can't release you. I love you. I will be your wife, no matter what has happened, no matter———”
“Oh, Lord, Lyddy—it isn't that! It's the other—the promise to say nothing to my father———”
“Oh!” she sighed weakly, a vast wave of relief almost suffocating her.
“He has made it impossible for me to go on without———”
“Where are you, Frederic?” she cried in sudden alarm.
“Oh, I'm all right. I shan't go home, you may be sure of that. To-morrow will be time enough.”
“Where are you? I must know. How can I reach you by telephone—”
“Don't be frightened, dear. It's got to be, that's all. It might as well be ended now as later on. The last straw was laid on to-night. Now don't ask questions. I'll see you in the morning. Good night, sweetheart. I've—I've told you that I can't stick to my promise. You'll understand. I couldn't rest until I'd told you and heard your dear voice. Forgive me for calling you up. Tell your mother I'm sorry. Good night!”
“Freddy, listen to me! You must wait until I——— Oh!” He had hung up the receiver. She heard the whir of the open wire.
There was little comfort for her in the hope held out by her mother as they sat far into the night and discussed the possibilities of the day so near at hand. She could see nothing but disaster, and she could think of nothing but her own lamentable weakness in shrinking from the encounter that might have made the present situation impossible. Between them mother and daughter constructed at random a dozen theories as to the nature of the fresh complication that had entered into the already serious situation, and always it was Lydia who advanced the most sickening of conjectures.