"I have loved you well."
Still moving like an automaton, she folded the scrap of paper and placed it carefully in her bag. Then, as if she could not speak, she bowed to the landlady, who surveyed her in patent disappointment, and walked slowly from the room. Imrie followed, understanding something of her suffering, impotent to help.
But once in the automobile, he could stand it no longer.
"Oh, Judith, Judith," he cried brokenly, "won't you let me...." He put his arm around her and drew her to him.
She freed herself mechanically.
"No, Arnold," she said very gently. "Not—not now...."
Then the tears came.