He picked up his hat. Connie, who had subsided into a chair, gave a wail of dismay, and running to the door put her back against it.
“Noel! What do you mean? You can’t go away and leave me like this. I thought—I thought you would be—well, if not exactly pleased, at least reconciled. He is going to marry me. We are both free now. It was wrong of me to write to him. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I do now. I am sorry!”
Noel stood looking at her as she leaned against the door. Was she worth making further efforts for? Poor old Connie! She would go to the devil now and no mistake! Those pretty, pale blue eyes and that weak mouth had defeated him.
“There’s nothing more to be said,” he replied more gently. “You’ve made your choice. I’m leaving for Germany to-morrow, as you know. So, good-by, Connie.”
Tears again. She wouldn’t take his hand but clung instead to his arm, sobbing. There was a knock at the door. Noel opened it, expecting to see Petrovitch. But it was Madame Claire.
She stood there smiling, observing Connie’s tears and Noel’s anger. She leaned with one hand upon her ebony stick. With the other hand she held about her the folds of a long, fur-trimmed cape.
“Claire!” exclaimed Noel. “You out, and at this time of day? This is marvelous!”
”I wanted to see Connie,” said Madame Claire, kissing her daughter on the cheek. “Good morning, my dear. I hope you are properly flattered at such a visit. I don’t often get out as early as this. In fact I don’t often get out at all, these days. Were you going, Noel?”
“Yes,” he answered. “Connie has just informed me of her approaching nuptials. I’ll leave the congratulations to you.”
“I can’t bear him to leave me like this!” cried Connie. “He won’t listen to me. I don’t believe he wants me to be happy!”