“But it’s mine now—don’t you see?” she went on courageously. “It’s mine, because I’ve taken it up. I’m your wife—I share it all.”
He gave her a strange look. She thought that he was going to break down the barrier at last and speak, that there might yet be hope for them, but he was interrupted. Some one rang the bell in the little outside vestibule, and he started at once to answer it, believing that Overton had come.
Diane thought so, too, and sprang from her chair, looking about for a way to escape without crossing the room where she was sure to come face to face with the visitor. As she reached the door that led into her bedroom, she saw that the caller was a rough-looking man dressed like a sailor, and that he and Faunce stood talking—apparently bargaining—near the hall entrance. It was simpler for her to return to her seat at the table and wait until the stranger was gone.
She went back with such a feeling of relief that she found courage to pour out another cup of coffee, and to drink it slowly, while she was trying to think. She was going to accompany Faunce on the expedition, and she had already packed. There was little or nothing left for her to do, except to write a last letter to her father, entreating him to think of her while she was away, and to try to forgive her for doing what she felt it was right for her to do—for returning to her husband.
She was thinking of this, trying to frame it in her mind, when Faunce suddenly returned. She looked up as he entered, and saw that his usually pale face was deeply flushed, and his eyes had the feverish look that she had noticed when she first came back. Something in his expression made her turn in her seat and exclaim:
“What is it? What’s the matter?”
He came over to the table and stood leaning on it with both hands, his expression heavy with some pent-up emotion.
“I want to borrow some money immediately,” he said slowly. “I’ve put about all my spare cash in—can you lend me anything, Diane?”
She saw his embarrassment and rose quickly.
“I’ll get my check-book. I haven’t got much, Arthur. You know papa’s angry, and he’ll give me nothing but my mother’s; but I can spare you five hundred dollars, I think.”