“Tom Appleton think?—I beg pardon again. But see, he's talking to a girl now, Miss Estabrook, of North Broad Street. His smile to her is not the kind of a smile that commonly lights up a man's face on his way to death.”
“You don't suppose he would conceal his intentions from people by putting on his usual gaiety, do you?” she replied, ironically; adding, rather stiffly, “He has at least sufficiently good manners to do that, if not sufficient duplicity.”
“I didn't mean to offend you. My motive was to comfort you with the probability that he has changed his mind about shuffling off his mortal coil.”
“You're not very complimentary, Doctor Haslam. Perhaps you don't think that being jilted by me is sufficient to make a man commit suicide.”
“Frankly I don't. If I had thought so three years ago, I'd be dust or ashes at this present moment. It can't be that you would feel hurt if Tom Appleton there should fail to keep his oath and should continue to live in spite of your renunciation of him?”
“How dare you think me so vain and cruel, when I've taken all this trouble and come all this distance simply to prevent him from keeping his oath?”
“But how in the world would you prevent him if he were honestly bent on getting rid of himself?”
“By watching him until the moment he makes the attempt, and then rushing up and telling him that I'd renew our engagement. That would stop him, and gain time for me to manage so that he'd fall in love with some other girl and release me of his own accord.”
“But think a moment. You can watch him until the opera is out and perhaps for some time later. But if he means to die he certainly has a sufficient share of good manners to induce him to die quietly in his own home. So he'll eventually go home. When his door is locked, how are you going to keep your eye on him, and how can you rush to him at the proper moment?”
“I never thought of that.”