"You had nothing to write to me," she said, striving to speak coldly.
"Oh yes, I had!" he protested.
She shook her head.
"Our journalistic relations are over—there were no others."
"Oh!" he said reproachfully, feeling his heart grow chill. "Surely we were friends?"
She did not answer.
"I wanted to write and tell you how much," he began desperately, then stammered, and ended—"how much I liked Mordecai Josephs."
This time the reproachful "Oh!" came from her lips. "I thought better of you," she said. "You didn't say that in The Flag of Judah; writing it privately to me wouldn't do me any good in any case."
He felt miserable; from the crude standpoint of facts, there was no answer to give. He gave none.
"I suppose it is all about now?" she went on, seeing him silent.