“But what was it in him that I loved?” she asked, looking at Turl as if in search of something missing.
He could only say: “If you reject me, he is stultified. His plan contemplated no such unhappiness. If you cause that unhappiness, you so far bring disaster on his plan.”
She shook her head, and repeated sadly: “You are not the same.”
“But surely the love I have for you—that is the same—the old love transmitted to the new self. In that, at least, Murray Davenport survives in me—and I'm willing that he should.”
Again she vainly asked: “What was it in him that I loved—that I still love when I think of him? I try to think of you as the Murray Davenport I knew, but—”
“But I wouldn't have you think of me as Murray Davenport. Even if I wished to be Murray Davenport again, I could not. To re-transform myself is impossible. Even if I tried mentally to return to the old self, the return would be mental only, and even mentally it would never be complete. You say truly the old Murray Davenport is lost. What was it you loved in him? Was it his unhappiness? His misfortune? Then, perhaps, if you doom me to unhappiness now, you will in the end love me for my unhappiness.” He smiled despondently.
“I don't know,” she said. “It isn't a matter to decide by talk, or even by thought. I must see how I feel. I must get used to the situation. It's so strange as yet. We must wait.” She rose, rather weakly, and supported herself with the back of a chair. “When I'm ready for you to call, I'll send you a message.”
There was nothing for Turl to do but bow to this temporary dismissal, and Larcher saw the fitness of going at the same time. With few and rather embarrassed words of departure, the young men left Florence to the company of Edna Hill, in whom astonishment had produced for once the effect of comparative speechlessness.
Out in the hall, when the door of the Kenby suite had closed behind them, Turl said to Larcher: “You've had a good deal of trouble over Murray Davenport, and shown much kindness in his interest. I must apologize for the trouble,—as his representative, you know,—and thank you for the kindness.”
“Don't mention either,” said Larcher, cordially. “I take it from your tone,” said Turl, smiling, “that my story doesn't alter the friendly relations between us.”