Brainard hesitated.
“I would give you pretty much anything else I have,” he replied. “But, you see, that sketch is all I have of Melody—supposing it was hers! You understand?”
“You have a good deal of feeling for this Melody?”
“Yes,” Brainard admitted, slightly reddening, and added more lightly, “She’s been my benefactress, you see.”
The girl raised her gray eyes and looked steadfastly at him. Her face was older, Brainard suddenly perceived, than he had remembered it. Yes, the trip abroad had done much for the wild young girl.
“I want this!” she insisted.
“Then you shall have it!” Brainard exclaimed impulsively, and added with another blush, “It’s about all that I can give you!”
“I know it—and that’s why I want it so much!”
After that there was a conscious silence between them, until Miss Delacourt rose to leave. She walked slowly to the door, as if loath to go; then she turned and reached out both hands to Brainard. He took them, and they stood facing each other mutely.
For the first time in all these years his loyalty to his unknown mistress completely vanished. The ideal of Melody had faded from his mind.