“Listen,” he began gently.
But she saw the look of resistance in his eyes, and she cried “No no—don’t! I cannot do without you! Think! I love you! What more can I say to you? I cannot believe that you don’t care for me—you have been fond of me—I have seen it in your face. Yet you’re afraid of me—why? Look at me—am I not beautiful to look at! And is a woman’s love such a little thing—can you fling it away and trample upon it so easily? Why do you wish to go? Don’t you understand—no one knows we are here—no one cares! You can come here whenever you wish—this is my place—mine! And no one will think anything about it. They all do it. There is nothing to be afraid of!”
She put her arms about him, and clung to him so that he could feel the beating of her heart upon his bosom. “Oh, don’t leave me here alone to-night!” she cried.
To Montague it was like the ringing of an alarm-bell deep within his soul. “I must go,” he said.
She flung back her head and stared at him, and he saw the terror and anguish in her eyes. “No, no!” she cried, “don’t say that to me! I can’t bear it—oh, see what I have done! Look at me! Have mercy on me!”
“Mrs. Winnie,” he said, “you must have mercy on me!”
But he only felt her clasp him more tightly. He took her by the wrists, and with quiet force he broke her hold upon him; her hands fell to her sides, and she stared at him, aghast.
“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.