“Yes, I wanted to tell you about her that night of....”
“I know,” says Mona. With a stab of remorse the memory of what she had said has come back to her.
“Only ten. Such a sweet little thing—the sweetest darling in the world. Used to write every week and send me her sketches. My father died when she was a baby, and since then she has looked on me as father and brother too. And now.... Oh, it is too stupid! It is too stupid!”
Mona cannot speak, and he goes on saying:
“It is too stupid. It is too stupid!”
He drops his head into his hands, and Mona sees the tears oozing out between his fingers.
“Mignon! My little Mignon!”
Still Mona does not utter a word, and at last he gets up and says:
“I had to tell you. There was no one else.”
His face is broken up and he is turning to go. Mona can bear no more. By a swift, irresistible, unconquerable, almighty impulse she flings her arms about his neck.