“You mean,” he said slowly, at length, “that his being dead opens the way for me? That perhaps she might care for me now—because of that?”
Fanny nodded.
“Good Heavens!” He drew a deep breath. “That—that would make it impossible. I couldn’t do that!”
“I don’t see why,” she said blankly.
He caught the amazement in her eyes, and was silent, but his face blanched, and his evident emotion was so unaccountable that it startled and puzzled her. She rose from her seat and went to the window, averting her face.
“It’s natural, isn’t it? I don’t think you should feel so dreadfully about it.”
But Faunce still seemed unable to master himself.
“I can’t help it. I—I——” he stammered again, relapsing into silence as he began to walk to and fro.
Fanny did not turn her head, but continued to look out of the window with unseeing eyes, which did not even recognize the boys who were playing football on the campus, not fifty yards away. She was aware of their plunging, dodging figures, of a blur of multicolored sweaters and brown corduroys; but she was not thinking of them, and even their shouts came to dull ears.
Before her the long driveway to the gate was arched with naked elms, and even the hedgerows began to take on the somber hues of early winter. Far in the west a heavy cloud had broken, the widening rift showing a space of translucent light that shot out oblique shafts of glory, like a shower of golden arrows darting through the leaden sky. A sudden gust of wind sent the brown leaves scampering wildly across the lawn, and swept them at last into a frantic dance below the window.