“You telephoned you wished to see me,” she said.
Maisie, very rigid and still gray of face, did not at once speak.
“Well?” prompted Mary.
“I came to tell you what I intend to do,” said the other, and stopped.
“Go on. I know just about how you feel, and I guess I’d do about the same. I’m prepared, so don’t try to break it easy to me.”
“Of course,” said the girl,—and there was a catch in her voice,—“of course you know that I love Jack.”
“Yes, I know,” said Mary.
“I love him so well,” continued the girl, “that I don’t want to do anything to hurt him.” She swallowed, then drove herself on, her blue eyes gazing straight into Mary’s dark ones. “I’m going to be honest. I’m not doing this because it’s easy; nor because I like you—I can’t do that yet. I’m doing it for—for Jack.”
“Doing what?” breathed Mary, suddenly bewildered.
“I’m doing it because I see you can be more to Jack than I can ever be,” the girl went on. “You’re the sort of woman that can make a man—you proved that when you made Jack steady down and go to work. I could never have done that for Jack.”