"Jimmy, don't go like that—not without saying good-bye. We've been such friends—we've had such good times together."
She was sobbing now; genuine enough sobs they seemed. She clung to him desperately.
"I always loved you; you must have known that I did, only—only—— Oh, I couldn't bear to be poor! That was it, Jimmy. I couldn't face being poor."
Jimmy stood like a statue. One might almost have thought he had not been listening. Then suddenly he wrenched his hand free.
"Let me go, for God's sake—let me go!"
He left her there, sobbing and calling his name.
She heard him go down the stairs—heard the sullen slam of a distant door; then she rushed over to the window.
It was too dark to see him as he strode away from the house; everything seemed horribly silent and empty.
Jimmy had gone; and Cynthia Farrow knew, as she stood there in the disordered room, that by sending him away she had made the greatest mistake of her selfish life.