He saw the blood surging up to her temples, receding, leaving her white. Her eyes were longing, pleading; they sought his. She was beautiful; his heart gave a great bound. He stood looking, looking, stammered something, then turned and went out.
The next few days he was kept busy about the cabins, rugs, passports, exchange. There was a feeling of warmth. He saw Mary standing there with that look in her face; he saw the woman for the first time. How wonderful she was! What a wife she would make! He hoped she wouldn’t marry. No man was good enough. He found himself thinking too much about her; then he went and bought something costly for Julie. He refused to stay alone in the house with that French woman. He coaxed Bridget back to take care of the boy while his wife was away. He wondered why Julie didn’t write to her friends.
“I don’t want anyone to know I am going.”
“Not even Maud Dillon?”
“They’ve moved away somewhere.”
He hadn’t seen Tom about town as usual. How people disappear when their money is gone and nobody misses them.
The car was waiting at the door. Julie, with a throb of pride, took the boy once more in her arms. The child was beautiful in his velvet suit and lace collar.
“You won’t forget me, Joseph?”
“No, Mother.”
She placed her photograph on the table beside his little bed.