"Tony!" Alan's face was dead white, his green eyes savage. "You promised to stick to me through everything. Where is your Holiday honor that you can talk like that about marrying another man?" Maddened, he branished his words like whips, caring little whether they hurt or not.
"I can't help it, Alan. I am sorry if I am hurting you. But I can't think about anybody but Dick just now."
"Forgive me, sweetheart. I know you didn't mean it, what you said about marrying him and you didn't mean it about going to Mexico. You know you can't. It is no place for a woman like you."
"If Dick is there dying, it is the place for me. I love you, Alan. But there are some things that go even deeper, things that have their very roots in me, the things that belong to the Hill. And Dick is a very big part of them, sometimes I think he is the biggest part of all. I have to go to him. Please don't try to stop me. It will only make us both unhappy if you try."
A bitter blast struck their faces with the force of a blow. Tony shivered.
"Let's go back. I'm cold—so dreadfully cold," she moaned clinging to his arm.
They turned in silence. There was nothing to say. The sunset glory had faded now. Only a pale, cold mauve tint was left where the flame had blazed. A star or two had come out. The river flowed sinister black, showing white humps of foam here and there.
At the Hostelry Jean Lambert met them in the hall.
"Tony, where have you been? We have been trying everywhere to locate you.
Cecilia died this afternoon. You have to take Miss Clay's place tonight."
Tony's face went white. She leaned against the wall trembling.