“I meant, we were both in love,” he said with the ghost of a smile, “if your corkscrew advances towards matrimony can be called love. I did not mean that we were in love with the same woman.”
“I don’t care if you are now. I did care damnably once, but I don’t mind a bit now. Do your worst.”
“The conquering hero, and no mistake,” Sinclair said, looking at me with something almost like affection, and he put out his hand. “Good luck to you, old turkey cock.”
I shook his hand harder than I intended, quite warmly, in fact.
“Why don’t you marry too?” I said. “It would make all the difference to you, as it has to me.”
We seemed suddenly very near to each other, as we had been in the old days; nearer than we had ever been since he had made trouble between Mildred and me.
He looked at me with a kind of forlorn envy.
“I cannot find her,” he said again.
The words fell into the silence of the large, dimly lighted room.