“Oh no, no, no! I didn’t mean to do that. I just wanted—oh, gee! I dunno—well, I wanted to have things between us definite.”
“I do understand. You’re quite right. And now we’re just friends, aren’t we?”
“Yes.”
“Then good-by. And sometime when I’m back in New York—I’m going to California in a few days—I think I’ll be able to get back here—I certainly hope so—though of course I’ll have to keep house for friend father for a while, and maybe I’ll marry myself with a local magnate in desperation—but, as I was saying, dear, when I get back here we’ll have a good dinner, nicht wahr?”
“Yes, and—good-by.”
She stood at the top of the stairs looking down. He slowly clumped down the wooden treads, boiling with the amazing discoveries that he had said good-by to Istra, that he was not sorry, and that now he could offer to Nelly Croubel everything.
Istra suddenly called, “O Mouse, wait just a moment.”
She darted like a swallow. She threw her arm about his shoulder and kissed his cheek. Instantly she was running up-stairs again, and had disappeared into the studio.
Mr. William Wrenn was walking rapidly up Riverside Drive, thinking about his letters to the Southern merchants.
While he was leaving the studio building he had perfectly seen himself as one who was about to go through a tumultuous agony, after which he would be free of all the desire for Istra and ready to serve Nelly sincerely and humbly.