“Perhaps you are right,” he admitted. “I guess I am not very good company; shan’t be until I get over this. When I come again I’ll try to behave more like a Christian. I am awfully sorry, dear. You will make allowances and forgive me, won’t you? Good heavens, think what a disappointment this has been for me. All my plans—”
“They were my plans, too.”
“Yes, so they were. Well, when may I come again? I shan’t have to wait until Friday, shall I? This little bit of a half hour doesn’t really count, you know. May I come to-morrow night?”
“No. I want you to take time to think this all over. And when you come I want to hear you say that you will go ahead just as you intended.”
“Without you?”
“Certainly; without me for the present.”
“Esther Townsend, are you in on this? Are you trying to get rid of me?”
She looked at him. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” she said, icily. “Good-night.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean it! You know I didn’t. I am—I am talking like a fool, of course. But you don’t really expect me to go across the Atlantic Ocean and leave you on this side? You don’t really ask me to do that?”
“I do. It is for your sake. For the sake of your work and all it means. I don’t want to see you again until you are ready to promise me just that.”