“You are crying,” he said abruptly.
“Only a little,” she murmured, trying to compose herself. This she could not do; for once she lost all self-control and burying her face in her hands she wept bitterly.
The young man’s face softened as he listened to her. “Stanton has told me that you were breaking your heart about me. It is pitiful, isn’t it? Twenty-five and at the end of everything. But don’t worry; I’ve given that up. At first I raved and beat my head till it was sore against the bars of my bed, but it didn’t do any good. I’ve got to submit,” and with a painful smile he again stretched himself out on the grass.
“This is unpardonable in me,” said Vivienne, resolutely wiping her eyes. “I am ashamed of myself. I shall not offend again. You can see a little, Valentine, can you not?”
“Not a glimmer.”
Vivienne’s lip trembled, but she pressed it with her teeth and went on: “When are you coming up to the house? It is forlorn without you.”
“Never,” he said gloomily. “What do you want of me there?”
“If I can hear your exquisite voice singing words of encouragement I think that I can bear any burden,” said the girl wistfully.
“Oh, you wish me to keep you in good humor.”
“It would be an important mission. I have learned the accompaniments of all your songs.”