“You’ve got to believe me; I’ll die if you don’t tell me you believe in me!” and her voice broke in a sob.
He walked away from her, then went back, staring at her dully.
“I’ve been foolish, Shep. George and I have been good friends; we’ve enjoyed talking books and music. I like the things he likes, but that’s all. You’ve got to believe me, Shep; you’ve got to believe me!”
There was deep passion in the reiterated appeal.
When he did not reply she rose, clasped his cheeks in her hands so that he could not avoid her eyes.
“Look at me, Shep. I swear before God I am telling you the truth!”
“Yes, Connie.” He freed himself, walked to the end of the room, went back to her, regarding her intently. “Connie—what did you mean by what you said to father about Bruce Storrs?”
“Oh, nothing! Your aunt Alice spoke of the resemblance one night at the country club, where she saw Bruce with Millicent. It’s rather striking when you think of it. And then at Bruce’s jollification the other night Arthur said your father once spent some time at Laconia. I thought possibly he had relatives there.”
“No; never, I think.”
“That’s what your aunt Alice said; but the portrait does suggest Bruce Storrs.”