"No; I saw something had him by the heels, but he's been still as a fish."
"It came three days ago. He has decided not to take it. And it will break his heart."
"It will break your heart," Wilmer opened his lips to say; but he dared not jostle her mood of unconsidered frankness.
"I suppose I expected it," she went on. "I did expect it. Yet he's been so different lately, it gave me a kind of hope."
Jerome started. "How has he been different?" he asked.
"More confident, less doubtful of himself. It's not anything he has said. It's in his speech, his walk. He even carries his head differently, as if he had a right to. Well, we talked half the night last night, and he went home to write the letter. He promised me not to mail it till he'd seen me once more; but nothing will make any difference."
"You won't beseech him?"
"No. He is a man. He must decide."
"You won't tell him what depends on it!"
"Nothing depends on it," said Mary, calmly. "Nothing except his own happiness. I shall find mine in letting him accept his life according to his own free will."