"Rottenly, Gordon!"
"I daresay I did. It was a sort of madness that came over me, but—but there's no excuse. She'll be here in a few minutes. I don't know what I can say to her. Stay here, Dave, and help me out. I used to tell you that she was just a society doll, and that sort of thing. Well, she's pretty strong on society, but she was brought up in it, belonged to it. But she's a great deal more of a woman than I gave her credit for being; I've realized it a thousand times since I've been gone. I call it mighty decent of her to ring me up and offer to come around and see me, after the way I've behaved to her."
"So do I, Gordon," I approved. "She's got a great big heart, the sort it's a sorry thing for a man to play with."
He made no answer, looking out from his window into the Park and its yellowing foliage. Then he lifted his maimed arm and stared at it.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE REPAIR OF A BROKEN STRAND
We sat there for some long minutes, in silence. Gordon was thinking deeply. His expression, the abandonment shown in the looseness of his limbs and the falling forward of his head, were instinct with something that represented to me a forgetting of pose and calculated conduct.
"I've seen so much suffering," he suddenly said. "That sort of thing either hardens a man into stone or softens his heart till he can cry out in hatred of the idea of inflicting pain that can be spared."
I made no answer. It was best to chance no interruption of his mood. My thoughts were of the meeting that would take place in a few minutes. Indeed, I felt that I ought not to be there, that my presence might hinder some cry of the heart, words a woman's soul might dictate. But I was compelled to remain, since Gordon wished me to. He was now like a child needing the comfort of a friendly hand before entering a place of darkness. But I would seize the first opportunity of leaving them alone. At any rate, I could cross the long studio and go into the next room, if needed.