"So that is why you sent for me," he said. "I came here thinking you might be going to give me another chance. Now you tell me it's a lot worse than even I thought."
"No, no!" she protested. "I learned what I've told you afterward—after
I had sent you the note. You must not think—"
He broke in upon her explanation with a laugh as mirthless as were his hard-set face and despairing eyes. She shrank back from him.
"Stop it!—stop it!" she cried. "I can't bear it!"
He fell silent, and began aimlessly fumbling through his pockets. His gaze was fixed on the wall above and beyond her in a vacant stare.
"Tom!" she whispered, alarmed at his abstraction.
He looked down at her as if mildly surprised that she was still in the room.
"Excuse me," he muttered. "I was just wondering what it all amounts to, anyway. A fellow squirms and flounders, or else drifts with the current. Maybe he helps others to keep afloat, and maybe he doesn't. Maybe some one else helps him hold up. But, sooner or later, he goes down for good. It will all be the same a hundred years from now."
"No!" she denied. "You know that's not true. You don't believe it."
He straightened, and raised his half-clenched fist.