“All right, I understand; I won't. But mayn't I come down and see you? I can start West the day after tomorrow just as well and that would give me time—”
“No, Crawford, no. You mustn't come.”
“I've a good mind to, whether or no.”
“If you do I shall not see you—then or at any other time. But you won't, will you?”
“No, Mary, I won't. It's mighty hard, though.”
Perhaps it was quite as hard for her, but she did not reply.
“Will you write me—every day?” he went on. . . . “Why don't you answer?”
“I was thinking what would be best for me to do,” she said; “best for us both, I mean. I shall write you one letter surely.”
“ONE!”
“One surely. I want you to understand just what my coming here means and what effect it may have upon my future. You should know that. Afterward, whether I write you or not will depend.”