“I must go,” he said, again.
And he started toward the door. She followed him dumbly with her eyes.
“Good-bye,” he said. He knew that there was no use of any more words; his sympathy had been like oil upon flames. He saw her move, and as he opened the door, she flung herself down in a chair and burst into frantic weeping. He shut the door softly and went away.
He found his way down the stairs, and got his hat and coat, and went out, unseen by anyone. He walked down the Avenue-and there suddenly was the giant bulk of St. Cecilia’s lifting itself into the sky. He stopped and looked at it—it seemed a great tumultuous surge of emotion. And for the first time in his life it seemed to him that he understood why men had put together that towering heap of stone!
Then he went on home.
He found Alice dressing for a ball, and Oliver waiting for her. He went to his room, and took off his coat; and Oliver came up to him, and with a sudden gesture reached over to his shoulder, and held up a trophy.
He drew it out carefully, and measured the length of it, smiling mischievously in the meanwhile. Then he held it up to the light, to see the colour of it.
“A black one!” he cried. “Coal black!” And he looked at his brother, with a merry twinkle in his eyes. “Oh, Allan!” he chuckled.
Montague said nothing.