“I don’t want it,” he repeated. “I—I’ve just made up my mind. I’m going out but I’ll be back as soon as I can. If Overton comes here, tell him to go down to the pier; he’ll probably find me on the ship.”
She tried to stop him, to tell him that she would not be there to see Overton, that she must go out on some errands; but apparently he did not hear her. He left the room, and she heard some sharp talk outside before he went out with his visitor and left her alone.
It was some time before she got control of herself and decided what to do. The thought that she must face Overton again so soon was almost intolerable; at the moment her sensation was one of sheer panic, and she determined to escape it at any cost.
There had been no time since her return to secure a maid, and she had been putting the apartment in order and setting aside the breakfast things before the caretaker came to wash the dishes; but she did not stop now even for such simple tasks as these. She hurried back to her room and put on an outdoor dress and hat. Having picked up her parasol and gloves, she was on her way to the outer door when it opened suddenly and Overton himself stood on the threshold.
They stood speechless for a moment, looking at each other. Strange as it seemed to her then, she was the first to recover her self-command.
“Arthur had to go out, but he wanted me to tell you that he’d gone to the ship, and you might find him by going at once to the pier.”
His face changed and flushed deeply.
“I’ll go there immediately. I understand that I’m wanted, though I don’t know why. But”—he hesitated—“before I go I want to ask—your forgiveness.”
She was aware of a strange sensation, as if the universe moved under her feet and the room was darkening before her eyes; but she rallied all her strength as she tried to answer him.
“There’s—there’s nothing to forgive.”