"And why—for always?" She was very white and quiet.
"Because we are not likely ever to meet again."
"Where are you going?" she anxiously asked. "God knows!"
Strange sensations were working in her. What would be the end of this?
Her husband, knowing all, had permitted this man to come to her alone.
She had loved him for years; though he had deserted her years ago, she
loved him still—did she love him still?
"Will you not sit down?" she said with mechanical courtesy.
A stranger would not have thought from their manner that there were lives at stake. They both sat, he playing with the leaves of an orchid, she opening and shutting her fan absently. But she was so cold she could hardly speak. Her heart seemed to stand still.
"How has the world used you since we met last?" she tried to say neutrally.
"Better, I fear, than I have used it," he answered quietly.
"I do not quite see. How could you ill-use the world?" There was faint irony in her voice now. A change seemed to have come upon her.
"By ill-using any one person we ill-use society—the world"—he meaningly replied.