“You love him?”
“He is all I have—all I need.”
“Well, then, you must come here no more. I will send you money.... But while you love your husband, you must not do this. You have been driven to my arms: it is wrong. Yes, I will send you money. Or, if you would like it better, I will leave it each Saturday at the café. I will write on the envelope ‘For Lucette.’ I will tell the waiter who served us to-night. If you ask him each time you call, he will give you the money.”
“But, Onias, I can’t take it. I shall not have earned it.”
He turned on her angrily.
“Don’t talk nonsense! I have plenty of money. I don’t want it. If it pleases me to give it to you, I shall give it to you.... Come, Lucette, be sensible. We shall meet again, some day, and then we can kiss each other without—without this guilt.”
She took his hand impulsively in hers and kissed it.
“Good-bye, Onias,” she said softly.
“And you will call at the café each Saturday?”
“I will.”