"Oh, don't go on like that; do get up and pull yourself together!" Louie snapped.
"I do love him—I haven't anything else to give him—except my life—he could have that—you couldn't give him more than that——"
"I could stop blubbering for him," said Louie curtly, resuming her walk.
Yes, it was final. Evie had overcome; Louie now backed out of the whole affair. If Jim liked to tell her of his own accord, well and good; it still seemed the only way out; but what was the good even then? Evie Jeffries would no more acquire love as Louie understood it than she would ever acquire the nous to preside without betrayals at Jim's table at Iddesleigh Gate. And if Evie had lost Jim, so had Louie. By her silence she was relinquishing him now. She saw his image recede, slowly, slowly, as if it had been indeed that ship of her fancy, outward bound, her own vessel already condemned for breaking up. Yes, the ship was drawing away. The eyes of her spirit tired of watching it; surely now she might turn them elsewhere; but no—there it was still, very small, leaning, no doubt, to a brisk breeze, but hardly appearing to move.... No, it was not gone even yet; that sudden anguished searching for it was but a trick of the eyes; it was still there—a speck——
And it had only needed six words: "James Herbert Jeffries killed Archie Merridew."
Suddenly Louie herself sank to the floor by Jimmy's cot. Evie heard her sinking. She rose from the bed and ran to her. But Louie cried aloud and put up her hand.
"For God's sake don't touch me—go now—and say nothing."
The touch of Evie Jeffries would have been more than she could have borne.
"Mother, there is a gentleman!"