“I should be obliged to refuse to renew your lease in the fall,” she answered. He started from his wicker chair.
“You cannot mean it, Miss Gould! You would not be so—so unkind, so unjust!”
“I should feel obliged to, Mr. Welles, and I should not feel unjust.”
He sank back into the yielding chair with a sigh. After all, her fascination had always lain in her great decision. Was it not illogical to expect her to fail to display it at such a crisis? There was a long silence. The sun sank lower and lower, the birds twittered happily around them. Miss Gould's long white hook slipped in and out of the wool, and her lodger's eyes followed it absently. After a while he rose, settled his white jacket elaborately, and half turned as if to go back to the house.
“I need not tell you how I regret this unfortunate decision of yours,” he said politely, with a slight touch of the hauteur that sat so well on his graceful person. “I can only say that I am sorry you yourself should regret it so little, and that I hope it will not disturb our pleasant acquaintance during the weeks that remain to me.”
She bowed slightly with a dignified gesture that often served her as a reply, and he took a step toward her.
“Would we not better come in?” he suggested. “The sun is gone, and your dress is thin. Let me send Henry after the chairs,” and his eyes dropped to her hands again. They were nearly hidden by the green wool, but the long needle quivered like a leaf in the wind; she could not pass it between the thread and her white forefinger. He hesitated a moment, glanced at her face, smiled inscrutably, and deliberately reseated himself.
“What in the world could I do, you see?” he inquired meditatively, as if that had been the subject under discussion for some time. “I can't make cardboard boxes, you know. It's perfectly useless, my going into a factory. Wheels and belts and things always give me the maddest longing to jump into them—I couldn't resist it! And that would be so unpleasant—”
She dropped her wool and clasped her hands under it.
“Oh, Mr. Welles,” she cried eagerly, “how absurd! As if I meant that! As if I meant anything like it!”