"Yes;—once I almost told him so—at least I led him to believe it—and it was true, almost, that night."
"Cleo!"
"You tell him, Jenny."
"I! Why, he wouldn't listen to me, Cleo."
Cleo got up desperately, and began pacing the floor.
"I will not give Arthur up, Jenny. You don't know how I love him—love him. I think day and night of him. I forgive him everything. He is cold often, and I am humiliated at his indifference at times, but I go on loving him better than ever. I can't help it;—I shall love him as long as I live."
Jenny Davis watched her with anxious eyes. She had known her for some years, had known her better qualities, her weaknesses, her strength; and her heart ached for her. She was so beautiful, with a lithe, grand, extraordinary beauty.
"Yes, Cleo," she said, slowly, "you are right. You must go away—right at once. There is a party of English tourists going to Matsushima Bay to-morrow. Pack a few things hastily and join them. I know them all well, and you know some of them, too."
"Yes," the girl agreed, eagerly. "And you will break it to him—you will save me—that—that pain."