It was useless to question or reason. The decree was there in her own heart. The insistent call to keep her colours flying high, as she fought her way through the pitfalls of life to the Highest and Best.
As she paced the room behind her, disclosing a carefully thought-out plan, now pleading, now expostulating, she heard him rather as one afar off.
The plan did not matter one way or another. If she could have let herself go at all she would not have troubled about plans. His pleading and expostulating she scarcely heard.
She was looking out at all the lights, and her mind was grappling with problems. How harsh the glare of the streets appeared tonight. How far, far away the pin points that were stars. Hal liked a city.
Constellations hanging like great lamps in wonderful, wilderness skies would have wearied her quickly. She loved people, and she liked them all about her. But tonight she felt suddenly very near to the dark, shadowy side of life—very far from the stars of light.
She glanced up at the pin points a little wistfully. If perhaps they were nearer with their message of high striving; if perhaps the glare at hand were less harsh, there might be so much more steadfast courage in the world; so much less weak acceptance of conditions that led to pain and misery and disaster.
At last he stood beside her, and implored her to tell him, once for all, that she would yield and come.
But when he saw into the clear depths of her eyes, he knew his hopes were vain.
Suddenly, with swift self-distrust, his mood softened.
“I suppose I’ve shocked you past forgiveness now,” he said miserably. “You’ll think I’ve been a brute to you, and you’ll never forget it.”