Stewart glanced across the valley to where the cluster of villas hugged the mountain-side There was a light in his room; outside was the little balcony where Marie had leaned against the railing and looked down, down. Some of the arrogance of his new virtue left the man. He was suddenly humbled. For the first time he realized a part of what Marie had endured in that small room where the light burned.
“Poor little Marie!” he said softly.
The involuntary exclamation did more for him than any plea he could have made. Anita rose and held out her hand.
“Go and see her,” she said quietly. “You owe her that. We'll be leaving here in a day or so and I'll not see you again. But you've been honest, and I will be honest, too. I—I cared a great deal, too.”
“And this has killed it?”
“I hardly comprehend it yet. I shall have to have time to think.”
“But if you are going away—I'm afraid to leave you. You'll think this thing over, alone, and all the rules of life you've been taught will come—”
“Please, I must think. I will write you, I promise.”
He caught her hand and crushed it between both of his.
“I suppose you would rather I did not kiss you?” humbly.