If only she did not still love him! If only she could fill the place he had occupied all these years of her life with something else—even someone else.
Then she looked at young Atkins. He was only a boy! Young as she was herself, she felt years and years older than he, and there was something motherly in her voice as she said gently:
"Very well. Tommy—I understand."
He laughed hoarsely.
"Do you? I don't think you do," he said.
They parted with just an ordinary handshake, and with no more words, but Marie stood for a long time at the door after it had been opened to her, watching young Atkins walk away down the street.
He was going out of her life, she knew, and for a moment she was cruelly tempted to recall him.
Why not? Chris had his own friends, and did not trouble about her. She wondered what he was doing now, and if he, too, was somewhere out in the moonlight with . . . with somebody who was more to him than she was.
The thought brought a tide of jealousy rushing to her heart. She ran down the steps again to the path below. She would call Tommy back. Why should she have no happiness? Boy as he was, he loved her, and his love would be something snatched from the ruins of her life.
But after the first impulsive step she stood still with a sense of 136 utter futility. What was the good? What was the use of trying to deceive herself?