He stepped quickly to the door and she knew it was needless to argue further.
"Come to my hotel to-morrow morning at ten o'clock and I'll make you a settlement through a lawyer."
"I'll be there," she answered in a low tone, "but please, major, before you go let me ask you not to remember the foolish things I said and the way I acted when you came. I'm so sorry—forgive me. I made you terribly mad. I don't know what was the matter with me. Remember I'm just a foolish girl here without a friend——"
She stopped, her voice failing:
"Oh, my God, I'm so lonely, I don't want to live! You don't know what it means for me just to be near you—please let me go home with you!"
There was something genuine in this last cry. It reached his heart in spite of anger. He hesitated and spoke in kindly tones:
"Good night—I'll see you in the morning."
This plea of loneliness and homesickness found the weak spot in his armor. It was so clearly the echo of his own feelings. The old home, with its beautiful and sad memories, his people and his work had begun to pull resistlessly. Her suggestion was a subtle and dangerous one, doubly seductive because it was so safe a solution of difficulties. There was not the shadow of a doubt that her deeper purpose was to ultimately dominate his personal life. He was sure of his strength, yet he knew that the wise thing to do was to refuse to listen.
At ten o'clock next morning she came. He had called a lawyer and drawn up a settlement that only waited her signature.
She had not said she would sign—she had not positively refused. She was looking at him with dumb pleading eyes.