They were close to the library window now. Desire looked in.
She looked so long and stood so still that Mary had time to get back a little of her breath and something of her common sense. An instinct which her selfish life had pretty well buried began to stir.
"Come away," she whispered, "I shouldn't have ... it wasn't fair ... he would never forgive us if he knew we had seen him like this!"
Desire drew back instantly.
"No," she said. Her voice was toneless. Her face in the darkness gleamed wedge-shaped and unfamiliar between the falling waves of her hair.
"I'm sorry," said Mary sulkily. "But I thought you ought to know what you are doing. It takes a lot to break up a man like that."
"Yes," said Desire. "All the same I had no right—"
"You will have," said Desire evenly.
They were at her door now. She paused with her hand on the knob.
"I knew he cared," she said in the same level voice, "but I didn't know that he cared like that."