“I don't know what to say to you, Lily,” he said, at last. “She—it is possible that she thinks she cares, but under the circumstances—”
“Ellen told Mademoiselle you were going to marry her. That's true, isn't it?”
“Yes.”
“You always said that marriage without love was wicked, Willy.”
“Her child had a right to a name. And there were other things. I can't very well explain them to you. Her mother was ill. Can't you understand, Lily? I don't want to throw any heroics.” In his excitement he had lapsed into boyish vernacular. “Here was a plain problem, and a simple way to solve it. But it is off now, anyhow; things cleared up without that.”
She got up and held out her hand.
“It was like you to try to save her,” she said.
“Does this mean I am to go?”
“I am very tired, Willy.”
He had a mad impulse to take her in his arms, and holding her close to rest her there. She looked so tired. For fear he might do it he held his arms rigidly at his sides.