Littleton noticed the edge to her tone, noticed it because he loved her and, by now, had grown sensitive to its many inflections. Because he loved her, he tried to understand her, to respond to her moods, to fall in with her humours. He adored her quick changes, sometimes half a dozen in the space of ten minutes; the melodies in her voice, sometimes tender, sometimes firm, occasionally gay and still girlish. He was willing to do anything to make her happy, and he had seen very clearly the rift in the lute, the rift that had been inevitable. Could he hope to win her love? She had given him nothing that could be considered encouragement, although she was always friendly and ready to talk to him. She no longer loved her husband, and it was not possible that such a woman could exist for long without some man in her life. Why not——
Then he saw the expression on her face. She had forgotten he was standing there. She was absorbed in her thoughts, but her eyes were fixed on the couple going down the path. Pat was talking eagerly, and she had just slipped her hand confidentially within Colin’s arm to emphasize some point.
Love gives even the most stupid of men extraordinary powers of intuition where the woman he loves is concerned. In a flash he knew that his own suit was hopeless and the reason.
His fair skin had grown very grey as he spoke to her, and the light in his eyes was suddenly quenched.
“Mrs. Currey, this is my last day here, you know. Too bad it’s wet, isn’t it? We might have gone over the links once again together.”
The words effectually roused her. “Your last day here? I thought you were going to stay on a few more days? Oh, I’m sorry! But we shall meet when I come back to town, n’est-ce pas?”
“I’m afraid not,” he said regretfully. “I—I shall probably be sailing for New York next week. The firm has been calling for me for some time. ‘Home, sweet Home,’ you know, and the American eagle!”
“Why, that’s too bad.” Her tone was unaffectedly regretful and sincere. Perhaps, later on, he would feel it a slight consolation that he had won through to her friendship, but at present it was caustic on the wound. “I shall miss you. I suppose it’s ‘the game’ once more? We women are hopelessly out of it!”
He shook his head. “There is only ‘the game’ left to me, and now—it doesn’t interest me very much. Life has a queer way of giving you backhanders occasionally, hasn’t it? Mrs. Currey, you’ve taught me there are finer things, more worth striving for, than mere commercial gain. Oh, it will fill up the time quite nicely, and I shall still get some thrills out of doing the other fellow.” They had wandered out on the verandah again. “See here, I don’t know how a woman takes these things. I don’t know whether she likes a man to tell her he loves her, or would rather he went away with his tongue held between his teeth. But I feel I should like to tell you that I love you.... I would have done anything to win and keep your love, if there had been any hope for me.... At one time I had a crazy dream you might, perhaps, trust yourself to me and make another start with me on the other side. I know you’re brave enough to make a fight for your happiness, and not begrudge paying a price for it. You’re not the kind of woman to be frightened by a few law-court bogys.... No, you need not look so sorry. It’s my own fault. I walked clean into it. I guess I gave the best years of my life to the rottenest game out. Well, that game’s all that is left me. I’ve got to go on playing, whether I want to or not.”
“But I am sorry.... I like you so much. I almost wish—— But I think something has happened to my heart.... I can’t feel it. I feel sort of numbed. I don’t even seem to believe in love any longer. I wish I could fall in love. I think it would put some life in me. I used to laugh at a woman who said when she wasn’t in love she was only half alive. But there’s something in it. Degrading admission, isn’t it?”