We fell silent again. Finally she turned squarely around, and leaned against the casement, and gave me her hand. I saw then that there were tears in her eyes, and deep sorrow, but about her mouth there were evidences of a strong determination that explained why the tears did not come.
We looked at each other.
“Tell me,” she said, “what becomes of you in this arrangement?”
“Oh,” I replied, “I stay here and do my work. There is just one thing I am going to ask of you, Heloise—will you help me make the scales again?”
She looked surprised, I thought: and her mouth twisted 'nto the faintest of smiles. Then she nodded. “Yes,” she said, “we will make the scales.”
“Don't you see,” she went on, “that what you are trying to do brings us closer together than years of ordinary, selfish love-making?”
“Yes,” said I, “in a way.”
“In every way,” said she. “Are you blind, Anthony? Can't you see how you are making me love you?”
I tore my hands away from her. I could not stand it. But my brain was still dear, thank God!
“Heloise—dear!” I cried, “this only makes it harder. We must play fair. We must see it through. If he goes back to America, then you must go to Paris, and I must stay here.”