He greeted her with excited enthusiasm, but the tension which her change in appearance caused, was imperfectly concealed by his words and manner…. She knew his every movement, his every thought before it was half-uttered, as a mother without illusions knows her grown son, who has failed to become the man she hoped. They talked with effort about earlier days. He treated her with a consideration he had never shown before. The challenge of sex was missing. Duty, and an old and deep regard—these Beth felt from him. She attributed it to the havoc of a few weeks upon her face. She wished he would not come again; but he did.
It was the next morning—and she was painting. Again the knocker and his cheery greeting. Beth sat down to work—and then thoughts of the two men came to her. She should not have tried to paint, with Framtree in the room…. Thoughts arose, until she could not have borne another. The colors of her canvas flicked out, leaving a sort of welted gray of flesh, from which life is beaten. She rubbed her eyes.
"Jim," she said at last, "why did you come back?"
He came forward, and stood over her. "I wanted to see if there was any change, Beth,—any chance."
She regarded him, noted how effective is humility with such magnificent proportions of strength.
"There isn't, Jim," she answered. "At least, not the change you look for. I'm sorry if you really wanted it, but I think in time you'll be glad——"
"Never, Beth."
She smiled.
Framtree hesitated, as if there were something further he would like to say. He refrained, however…. Beth gave her hand, which he kissed for old love's sake.
* * * * *