“No,” he said, sullenly. “I won't shake hands with you. Why should I? You don't mean what you say. At least I don't think you do. I—I—By Jove! you can't!”
“But I do,” I said, patiently.
“You can't! Look here! you say I care for her. God knows I do! But you—suppose you knew where she was, what would you do? Would you go to her?”
I had been considering this very thing, during my ride to the lodgings and on the way to the hotel; and I had reached a conclusion.
“No,” I answered, slowly. “I think I should not. I know she does not wish me to follow her. I suppose she went away to avoid me. If I were convinced that she was among friends, in a respectable place, and quite safe, I should try to respect her wish. I think I should not follow her there.”
He stared at me, wide-eyed.
“You wouldn't!” he repeated. “You wouldn't! And you—Oh, I say! And you talked of her happiness!”
“It is her happiness I am thinking of. If it were my own I should—”
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing. She will be happier if I do not follow her, I suppose. That is enough for me.”