He went on passionately: ‘Every word he says to me stabs me. Every time I look at his honest, unsuspicious face I feel—surely you must know what I feel! I’m not quite a brute yet! And later, when you are his wife—do you think it would be possible for me to go on living within a stone’s throw—to see you every day—to keep up the farce of friendship? What do you think I am made of?’
Her face was set like marble; only the eyes moved. After a long pause she whispered: ‘Will you—ever come back?’
‘Who knows?’ he answered with a harsh laugh. ‘Some time perhaps—when I am quite old—when I can no longer feel.’
She put her hand before her eyes, and then let it drop. Richard saw the irrepressible anguish in them, and his face changed. He threw up his arms suddenly with a kind of a sob:
‘I will not go—if you tell me to stay!’
For a moment longer the agonised eyes looked down into his, and he thought he saw her waver; but it was only for a moment. Her lips moved, at first without emitting any sound, but presently mastering herself, she said firmly:
‘No, I tell you to go—it is right for you to go.’
‘Good-bye,’ said Richard hoarsely.
‘Good-bye,’ faltered Rosalie; and then there came a great sob: ‘God bless you!’
He turned as if to leave her, but wheeling round, looked back.