There was a moment’s silence, as she finished. Then Edith said, “So that’s that,” and tore the letter into little shreds. Her blue eyes were like bits of steel.
“He’s right,” said Baldy. “I’d like to kill him for making you unhappy—but the thing was bigger than himself.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Of course if you are going to condone—dishonor——”
He was leaning forward hugging his knees. “I am not condoning anything. But—I know this—that some day if you ever fall in love, you’ll forgive——”
“I am not likely to fall in love,” coldly, “I’m too sensible——”
He studied her with his bright gray eyes. “Oh, no, you’re not. You’re not in the least—sensible. You think you are because the men you’ve met have been poor sticks who couldn’t make you care——”
“I’ve met some of the most distinguished men in America—and a few of them have fallen in love with me——”
“Oh, I know. You’ve had strings of lovers—you’re too tremendously lovely not to have. But they’ve all been afraid of you. No caveman stuff—or anything like that. Isn’t that the truth?”
“I should hate a caveman.”
“Of course, but you wouldn’t be indifferent, and you’d end by caring——”