Mary said, with the air of a person who has been thinking something over for some time and is having some difficulty in expressing exactly what she means, "Rodrigo—there is something I should like to say." And, though he offered her no encouragement, she continued. "I have come to the conclusion that I was not as wise the last time I spoke to you as I thought I was. I have been thinking it over ever since. I was unjust to you. I belittled my feelings toward you. And I said there was a reason why we could never marry, and I didn't do you the justice to tell you what it was."
"I don't think telling me now will help either of us," he replied, striving to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Things have changed for me since then. I over-estimated myself. I told you I was a better man—than I am. To-day I see clearly that I was a fool."
She asked, suddenly apprehensive, "Something—that has taken away your love for me?"
His reply was bitter. "No, my faith in myself. Night before last, I weakened so that I don't deserve anybody's love, least of all, yours."
She recovered, smiled and came nearer to him, bravely intending to comfort him. "You are too hard on yourself, Rodrigo. You are angry and bitter. And that is my fault, I know."
"No, you have nothing to do with it," he said almost brutally. "I am going away from here too, as soon as I can. I shall stay away, forever."
He was surprised at the response in her face. She seemed glad, relieved. She hastened to explain. "Oh, Rodrigo, don't you see that that clears things up for us, for you and me? That eliminates the barrier that stood between us? I did not have the heart to tell you I could never say I loved you as long as you remained with Dorning and Son, as long as you and John were so closely associated. And I did not dare suggest breaking off your friendship."
"John?" he asked, mystified. "What has John got to do with you and me?"
"Not John, but——"
"Elise?"