“Far?”
He gave a sudden laugh.
“To hell and back. I don’t know the mileage.”
“Eliot, what do you mean?”
He looked down at her, and now that dreadful glare which had so frightened her had gone out of his eyes. They were human once more, but the naked misery in them shocked her into momentary silence. She would have liked to run away—to escape from those eyes. They were the windows of a soul enduring torture that was almost too intolerable to be borne. It was only by a strong effort of will that she at last forced her voice to do her bidding.
“What has happened, Eliot?” she said, speaking very gently. “Can’t you tell me?”
He stared at her a moment. Then:
“Why, yes,” he said. “I think I could tell you—part of it. It might amuse you. I’ve found you were not the only woman in the world who counts the shekels. You wouldn’t marry me because I was poor. Now another woman is ready to marry me just because I’m rich. There’s only one drawback.”
“Drawback?”
“Yes. Quite a drawback. You see, it doesn’t appeal to me to be married because I’ve a decent income, any more than it appealed to me ten years ago to be turned, down for the opposite reason.”