“Of course you don’t want to discuss her. But you see it matters so much to me that I couldn’t help asking.”
How could one tread upon such meekness?
“Oh, nonsense, Rose. There’s no reason on earth why you should feel that way. We decided long ago that there was no possible—emotion—between us. We continue to be good friends just as we always have been.”
“I wish we could, Jim.”
“Why can’t we?”
“Because Horatia probably wouldn’t want it.”
“Of course Horatia would. Of course she would.” But he repeated it as if not quite sure of himself.
And still Rose lay there, immobile, her delicate arms outstretched, a perfect picture of resignation.
“The last link is snapping which binds me to the things which I loved. A wasted life—and yet not altogether my fault, was it? Just because we were friends—you and I—before that horrible thing happened. And then—you go—and I am alone—with nothing at all except a future that is as empty as—that hand.” She lifted her lovely open hand to the wind.
“Don’t be morbid, Rose.”