"Right!" The little actress turned pale as the full significance of his words and tone dawned upon her. "But--but what do you mean! What about ME?"
To this Warren had only answered with an exquisitely uncomfortable look and the simple phrase, "Magsie, I'm sorry."
"You mean that you're not going to MAKE her keep her word?"
And again she had put an imperative little hand upon his arm, sure of her power to win him ultimately. Days afterward the angry blood came into her face when she remembered his kind, his almost fatherly, smile, as he dislodged the hand.
"Magsie, I'm sorry. You can't despise me as I despise myself, dear. I'm ashamed. Some day, perhaps, there'll be something I can do for you, and then you'll see by the way I do it that I want with all my heart to make it up to you. But I'm going away now, Magsie, and we mustn't see each other any more."
Magsie, repulsed, had flung herself the length of the little room.
"You DARE tell me that, Greg?"
"I'm sorry, Magsie!"
"Sorry!" Her tone was vitriol. "Why, but I've got your letters. I've got your own words! Everyone knows-the whole world knows! Can you deny that you gave me this?--and this? Can you deny--"
"No, I'm not denying anything, Magsie. Except--that I never meant to hurt you. And I hope there was some happiness in it for you as there was for me."