She was silent for a moment. “You look your latest rôle in life so well, too, Felix. You are the respectable married gentleman to the last detail. Why, you are an old man now, Felix,” she said wistfully. “Your hair is gray about the ears, and you are fat, and there are wrinkles under your eyes—But are you happy, dear?” she asked, with the grave tender speech that he remembered. And momentarily the man forgot the people about them, and the fact that his wife’s train was due any minute.
“Happier than I deserve to be, Muriel.” His voice had quavered—not ineffectively, it appeared to him.
“That’s true, at least,” the woman said, as in reflection. “You treated me rather abominably, you know—like an old shoe.”
“I am not altogether sorry you take that view of it. For I wouldn’t want you to regret—anything—not even that which, to me at least, is very sacred. But there was really nothing else to do save just to let things end. It was as hard,” he said, with a continuous flight of imagination, “it was as hard on me as you.”
“Sometimes I think it was simply because you were afraid of Leonard. I put that out of my mind, though, always. You see, I like to keep my memories. I have nothing else now, Felix—” She opened the small leather bag she carried, took out a handkerchief, and brushed her lips. “I am a fool, of course. Oh, it is funny to see your ugly little snub nose again! And I couldn’t help wanting to speak to you, once more—”
“It has been delightful. And some day I certainly do hope—But there’s your train, I think. The gates are going down.”
“And here is Avis coming. So good-by, Felix. It is really forever this time, I think—”
It seemed to him that she held in her left hand the sigil of Scoteia.... He stared at the gleaming thing, then raised his eyes to hers. She was smiling. Her eyes were the eyes of Ettarre. All the beauty of the world seemed gathered in this woman’s face....
“Don’t let it be forever! Come with me, Felix! There is only you—even now, there is only you. It is not yet too late—” Astounding as were the words, they came quite clearly, in a pleading frightened whisper.
The man was young for just that one wonderful moment of inexplicable yearning and self-loathing. Then, “I—I am afraid my wife would hardly like it,” he said, equably. “So good-by, Muriel. It has been very delightful to see you again.”