He stood looking at her—looking as though by his intense gaze he would print her face upon his memory forever. Only vaguely he heard what she was saying. His senses were too full of her to heed. The faint fragrance of her dress, the sweet blue of her troubled eyes, the quivering of her lips, were making his heart beat to suffocation.
“No, dear,” he murmured, absently, “no.”
“Yes,” she insisted. “Oh, Dick! it has been hateful of me, but do you know what helped me to pull myself together? It was knowing you—you loved me ... and admired me. It was such a long time since I had known that any man felt that.... It was mean of me, contemptible—but somehow it helped me awfully. It gave me back my self-esteem. It flattered my vanity.... Dick, don’t you hate me?”
He laughed gently. “Did you think I didn’t know it?” he said. “Did you think I wasn’t glad?”
With a sudden movement she rose, and, facing him, spoke urgently, almost imperatively.
“Dick,” she said, “I’m going to say to you what you said to me two years ago. Don’t waste your life over one human being. The world is wide, and it’s before you. And you’re a strong man. Go, and forget me.”
“I shall go,” said Mayne, briefly.
“When?” She faltered a little over the word.
“To-morrow.”
She was silent, looking at him; trying to realize life without him.