There was a quiver in her voice that set him on edge; 147 he could not stand the sound of unhappiness in any woman’s voice, and he had once thought he loved Marie....
He answered without looking at her, realising that it was kinder to tell the truth out and have done with it.
“I meant to have written to you––I hope some day you will try and forgive me, but ... but....” He could not go on for the life of him, but he had said enough, and he knew that she understood.
“You mean ... you mean that there is some one else?” she asked with stiff lips.
“Yes.” He looked at her white, stricken face, and felt himself a brute.
It seemed an eternity before she could steady her voice enough to speak.
“Is it––is it some one I know?”
“No, dear,” said Micky very gently. “It isn’t any one you have ever seen–––”
She picked up her big muff suddenly and held it so that her face was hidden; the little word of endearment that had escaped Micky’s lips had almost broken her down. This was the end of all she had ever hoped for, and for the moment she could not choke the anguish in her heart.
The following silence seemed unending; then she looked round for her gloves, and put them on, buttoning them with shaking fingers.