“Good by, Maimie; forget that I loved you once.”
The words came slowly from his pallid lips. For some moments he stood with his burning eyes fastened upon her face. Then he turned slowly from her and groped blindly for his hat. Miss St. Clair hurried toward him, found his hat, and putting it in his hand, said, in a broken voice, while tears poured down her cheeks: “Here it is; good by, good by.”
He looked at her a moment as if in surprise, and then, with a smile of rare sweetness on his white lips, he said, “I thank you,” and passed out, going feebly like a man who has got a death wound.
CHAPTER XXIII
A GOOD TRUE FRIEND
It was springtime and the parks and avenues were in all the dainty splendor of their new leaves. The afternoon May sun was flooding the city with gold and silver light, and all the air was tremulous with the singing of birds. A good day it was to live if one could only live in the sunny air within sight of the green leaves and within sound of the singing birds. A day for life and love it was; at least so Kate thought as she drew up her prancing team at the St. Clair house where Harry stood waiting for her.
“DEAR Kate,” he cried, “how stunning you are! I love you!”
“Come, Harry, jump up! Breton is getting excited.”
“Stony-hearted wretch,” grumbled Harry. “Did you hear me tell you I love you?”