“Yes,” she told him, still staring at the fire. “I could have dared under some circumstance. But not these. Never under pretty, ignoble ones. I think that all makes it worse. There were two Sir Edwins. There was one I knew, and another the world knew. It was the other that triumphed. Mine will never come back. It is all finished.”
She bowed her head down on her arms.
“Oh, Dick,” she said. “I shall miss him badly.”
“But I’m glad you let him go, Hal.” He spoke in a quiet voice full of feeling. “Most men are pretty casual and indifferent nowadays, and we often say we like a woman to be broad-minded, and daring, and all that; but, by Jove! when we know she’s straight as a die, without being a prude, we’re ready to kneel down to her.
“Stand to your guns, Hal. I... I... want to go on knowing that you are among those one wants to kneel down to. If he is very persistent and persevering, and it gets harder, I dare say I can help. You can always ’phone me at a moment’s notice, and I shall consider myself at your beck and call.”
“You are a dear, Dick, but I shall not see him. He can only wait for me at the office, and I shall go out the back way.”
“Still, if you’re rather lost there are lots of things we might do to fill up the time. I’ve been going down East with Quin lately. It’s awfully interesting. Especially with him—he’s so splendid with the most hopeless characters. There’s a sing-song at one of the clubs on Wednesday eve. Come down with us. You’ll see Quin at his very best.”
“I’d love to come. Will you fetch me?”
“I’ll fetch you from the office, and we’ll have a sort of meat-tea meal at the Cheshire Cheese. Perhaps Quin will join us.”
So they sat on and talked in the firelight till it was time for Dick to go; and all the time Hal was unconsciously drawing strength and resolution from him for the fight that lay ahead of her.