"Let us not discuss it, Edith," he interrupted in his old dictative way, "It is a fierce fate that struck me two fearful blows at once. But don't worry about me, little one," he added gently, "I'm a man and can bear it. Now I will go to a little woman who has less strength to overcome."
As he held out his hand, his face became calm and set, and no one could have guessed the strength summoned to meet the inevitable.
"Good-bye, Edith," he said, quietly. "God bless you and give you all the happiness you deserve. If you ever need a heart to share a trouble, mine is always open to you. Good-bye, little one, Good-bye."
And Edith, more overcome than George, could only murmur, "Good-bye," and let him go.
Tired, she dropped into a chair. Vaguely she wondered why he did not even ask who her future husband was to be. Suddenly came the echo of his "Good-bye, little one, good-bye," and the pathos of it filled her with a melancholy longing.
She bowed her head in her hands, and wept.
CHAPTER VI.
The Glamor gone, what is left?
Since the glowing publication of Will Lambert's dishonesty and consequent suicide, Alma had completely hid herself, and would see no one but George. Repeatedly the bell announced visitors, but to all she was "not at home," and the very sound of the bell filled her with new misery.
For three days society had had the privilege of a new scandal for gossip. In her mind's eye, Alma pictured her acquaintances exchanging views and eagerly picking up new scraps of information. In her grief she imagined they came to her for curiosity only—all the friends of whom she proudly boasted before were distorted in her feverish brain and became prying gossips, filled with a mocking pity.