And again they walked on in silence. It almost seemed as if they had nothing at all to say to each other.
"Regina is waiting!" a voice cried within him.
"How silent you are!" Helene lisped, playfully pinching his elbow with two of the finger-tips that lay on his arm. "You wicked man! Haven't you a little bit of liking left for me?"
He felt he had no right to say "No." She had been true to him, had trusted his word for eight long years; he dared not prove himself unworthy now of her faith in him. When he had reassured her with a stammered "Of course, of course," she sighed, a deep-drawn, languishing sigh.
"I hear such dreadful things about you," she said, "that I don't know what to believe. Tell me it's not true."
"What?" he asked wearily.
"Ah, a girl can't discuss such matters. Immoral things, I mean. In old days you were a good, noble fellow, and I can't believe it's true that you've altered so completely."
She drew a little closer to him. In doing so, she dropped her blue silk reticule. As he stooped--with her--to pick it up, the peak of his cap brushed her face.
"Oh, take care!" she simpered, drawing back hastily.
"A thousand pardons!" he answered, in a tone of rigid politeness, and bit his lips.