“John,” she said, “I couldn't bear to think of your facin' it alone up here. I just had to come.”
He smiled, and the smile was as hopeless as the look in his eyes.
“Face it?” he repeated. “Well, Mrs. Coffin, I must face it, I suppose. I've been facing it ever since—since I knew. And I find it no easier.”
“John, what are you goin' to do?”
He shook his head. “I don't know,” he said. “Go away somewhere, first of all, I guess. Go somewhere and—and try to live it down. I can't, of course, but I must try.”
“Go away? Leave Trumet and your church and your congregation?”
“Did you suppose I could stay here?”
“I hoped you would.”
“And see the same people and the same places? And do the same things? See—see HER! Did you”—he moved impatiently—“did you expect me to attend the wedding?”
She put out her hand. “I know it'll be hard,” she said, “stayin' here, I mean. But your duty to others—”