“I did it for us—Jack and me. I was going to bring it as a surprise the day we ran off. I never told him.”
There was a pause: a song in it.
“Please!” she thrust the wallet into Cornelia’s hand. A pitiful blend in her voice of beseechment and command.
She got up. She kissed her sister’s mouth and eyes. She faltered downward until her head touched Cornelia’s skirt and the hand clasping the wallet. So, half kneeling, she stayed long.
A sudden resolution lifted her. She took Tom in her arms. Always Tom had despised her. He had known her, hypocritical and false, the meticulous slave of her father’s household. Why was she great and noble only now when hope had left her? Why, thinking these things, could Tom not abide the hot fold of her embrace?
“Good-by,” she said. “Hurry.”
She urged them to the door. All three of them wept....
This life, which Tom’s words had given, was now David’s. They walked. They sat on a rock fairly dry. David paddled Tom in his canoe. David was alone at The Villa. This life which Tom’s mood had given, was now David’s....
“All the time,” Tom had said, “I was dreaming to be a lawyer. Sister was dreaming to be a sculptress.”
“Is she?”