It was as if he had said, "If this, then, is what you are like! If you are the soft, submissive harem creature, the toy, the odalisque—If you will endure undesired love rather than face the world—"
And she knew that was what he was saying to her. The injustice brought a lump of self-pity to her throbbing throat.... That he should not realize and honor the courage of her sacrifice.... That he should reproach, despise.... She had expected other entreaties ... protestations....
Her heart ached with a throb of steady dreariness.
But she did not stir. Not a line of her drooping draperies wavered towards him. And swallowing that lump in her throat, she achieved a toneless, "That is what I am going to do."
At the other end of the garden a sound came from the house.
Ryder seemed to rouse himself. "Good-bye, then," he said, uncertainly.
"Good-bye, monsieur."
He looked oddly at her. "Good-bye," he muttered again, and turned, and stumbled out of the gate.
A pool of moonlight lay without its arches, and he stepped into it as if coming out of the shadows of an enchanted garden. He stood and straightened himself as if throwing off that garden's spell. He put back his shoulders and took a quick step down the lane.
A slight sound drew his eyes back.