“I don’t mind that. A little more freedom, just a little; and then I’ll tell her to come to me.”
He smoked in silence.
“Surely,” I said, “this little more freedom that I ask is a small thing compared with the sacrifice I have promised to make?”
“You won’t let her know it’s a sacrifice?”
“Of course not. She shall think that I love her as I used to.”
“Yes, you ought to do that,” he said softly. “Poor devil,” he added.
“Am I too selfish?” I asked.
He got up to go. “No,” he said. “To my mind, you’re entitled to a breathing space before you give up all that you love best. But there’s a risk.”
“Of what?”
“Of her finding out by some other means than yourself and before your letter comes, that the letter should have been written earlier. Do you sign all your stuff with your own name?”