"Did I?" he laughed. "I was rather under the impression that it was you who said that, but never mind. Go on!"
"Well—well . . . Can't we go on . . . just being good friends?— just only being good friends, I mean."
He did not answer, though it was not possible to mistake her meaning, and in the silence that followed it seemed to Marie that every hope she had cherished was throbbing away with each agonized heart beat. Then his hands fell slowly from her shoulders.
"You mean—that you don't care for me?"
29 She almost cried out at the tone of his voice. That he tried to make it property hurt and amazed, she knew, but her heart told her that his one great emotion was an overwhelming relief. That he had no intention of even paying her the compliment of discussion.
Her lips felt like ice as she answered him in a whisper.
"No—" And the silence came again before Chris said constrainedly:
"Very well—it shall be as you wish—of course!"
He waited a moment, but she did not speak, and he turned to the door. "Good-night, Marie Celeste."
"Good-night."