"Oh, I know I have acted shamefully," I said. "You can't think any worse of me than I do of myself. How you must despise me!"
"No," he said, with a grim smile, "if I did it would be easier for me. I might not love you then. Don't distress yourself, Katherine. I do not deny that I feel greatly hurt and disappointed, but I am glad you have been true to yourself at last. Don't cry, dear."
"You're very good," I answered disconsolately, "but all the same the fact remains that I have behaved disgracefully to you, and I know you think so. Oh, Mr. Sinclair, please, please, go away. I feel so miserably ashamed of myself that I cannot look you in the face."
"I am going, dear," he said gently. "I know all this must be very painful to you, but it is not easy for me, either."
"Can you forgive me?" I said wistfully.
"Yes, my dear, completely. Do not let yourself be unhappy over this. Remember that I will always be your friend. Goodbye."
He held out his hand and gave mine an earnest clasp. Then he went away.
I remained in the drawing-room, partly because I wanted to finish out my cry, and partly because, miserable coward that I was, I didn't dare face Alicia. Finally she came in, her face wreathed with anticipatory smiles. But when her eyes fell on my forlorn, crumpled self she fairly jumped.
"Katherine, what is the matter?" she asked sharply. "Didn't Mr. Sinclair—"
"Yes, he did," I said desperately. "And I've refused him. There now, Alicia!"