A gleam of vanity, of triumph over the discarded, humiliated one, leaped up fiercely within him and ended all the lingering, bitter memories.
"Then you care?" she said, resting her head on his shoulder that he might not see she had read such a thought.
"Care?" he cried. He had surrendered. Now it was necessary to be convinced. "Why, when I received your letter I—I was wild. I wanted to do murder."
"Jackie!"
"I was like a madman—everything was gone—nothing was left."
"Oh, Jack, how I have made you suffer!"
"Suffer? Yes, I have suffered!" Overcome by the returning pain of the memory, he dropped into a chair, trying to control his voice. "Yes, I have suffered!"
"Forgive me!" she said, slipping on her knees beside him, and burying her head in his lap.
"I was out of my head—I don't know what I did, what I said. It was as though a bomb had exploded. My life was wrecked, shattered—nothing left."
He felt the grief again, even more acutely. He suffered for what he had suffered.