"It isn't necessary to explain," she interrupted. "I hope Mrs. Cheyne won't go on my account. I'm going, too, in the morning. Under the circumstances, I'm sorry I couldn't have waited a day or two, but I had to see you at once."
"You had to see me? Has something gone wrong in New York? What is——?"
"Oh, no," wearily. "Everything in New York is all right. I've had everything packed in boxes and have given up the apartment at the hotel."
Jeff's brows tangled in mystification.
"You've given up the apartment? Why?"
"I'm not going to live there any more. I'm going to Kansas—to Abilene. I'm very tired, Jeff, and I need a rest."
"Camilla!" He pushed an armchair toward her and made her sit. "You do look as if you—you're not sick, are you?"
"Oh, no—just tired of everything." Her voice was low, as it always had been, but it had no life in it. "Just tired of being misunderstood. I won't explain, and I don't expect you to. I couldn't listen if you did. I came here because I had to come, because no matter what our relations are it was my duty to see you at once and tell you something of the greatest importance."
He stood behind her chair, his fingers close to her pallid cheeks, gently brushed by the filaments of her hair, the perfume of which reached him like some sweet memory. He leaned over her, aching for some token that would let him take her in his arms and forget all the shadows that had for so long hung about them. But as she spoke, he straightened, glowering at the wall beyond her.
"It isn't—it's nothing—to do with you—and Cort Bent——?"