“You mean that we—live together, yet apart?”
“Unless you will it otherwise, dear. In that case, we will close this door and say—good-bye, now.”
Her strength, her tenderness, unmanned Truedale. Again he felt that call upon him which she had inspired the night of his confession. Again he rallied to defend her—from her own pitiless sense of honour.
“By heaven!” he cried. “It shall not be good-bye. I will accept your terms, live up to them, and dare the future.”
“Good, old Con! And now, please, dear, go. I think—I think I am going to cry—a little and”—she looked up quiveringly—“I mustn’t have red eyes at dinner time. Brace and Betty are coming. Thank heaven, Con, Betty will make us laugh.”
CHAPTER XVIII
Having agreed upon this period of probation both Lynda and Truedale entered upon it with characteristic determination. There were times when Conning dejectedly believed that no woman could act as Lynda was doing, if she loved a man. No, it was not in woman’s power to forego all Lynda was foregoing if she loved deeply. Not that Lynda could be said to be cold or indifferent; she had never been sweeter, truer; but she was so amazingly serene!
Perhaps she was content, having secured his rights for him, to go on and be thankful that so little was actually exacted from her.
But such reasoning eventually shamed Truedale, and he acknowledged that there was something superb in a woman who, while still loving a man, was able to withhold herself from him until both he and she had sounded the depths of their natures.