“You would love me ... you practically promised me everything ... you’ve just amused yourself with me, like other women in your set ... you run up an account, and you don’t pay the bill ... if you were a man I should call it damned dishonourable, but as you are a woman——”
She stooped and drew forth the telegram.
“And if I were a man, what should I call this?”
The paper dropped from her hand and fluttered to the ground, where it lay between them.
“It was through love of you,” he said desperately. “You shilly-shallied ... women always have ridiculous scruples.... I swear it was through love of you. You’ve driven me out of my wits.”
She shook her head. There was no anger on her lips, only a drooping sadness.
“I wonder if that’s all a man’s love can ever mean.... I wonder! Good-night, Frank. Let’s close this chapter—friends. There have been faults on both sides.”
She held out her hand, but he turned away and flung himself on the divan with his head in his cushions.
She waited a moment, and then she went out of the door and down the stairs that led to the living-rooms below. Surely he would see her out? Would not Mrs. Marshall think it curious that she should depart in such an odd fashion? What a ludicrous finish to the evening!
The hall below was in darkness. She could see no light from the region of the kitchen. Was that, too, part of his experienced manœuvring? She shivered, and groped for the electric switch. After some time she found it. Her cloak was lying on one of the hall chairs.