“I know my way,” she whispered.
Jimmie heard the rustle of skirts that were not Aline's, and springing to his feet, hurried towards the door. But before he could reach it Norma entered and stood before him. Her long dark silk evening cloak was open at the throat, showing glimpses of white bare neck. Its high standing collar set off the stately poise of her head. She wore the diamond star in her hair. To the wondering man who gazed at her she was a vision of radiant beauty. They held each other's eyes for a second or two; and the first dazzling glory in which she seemed to stand having faded, Jimmie read in her face that desperate things had come to pass. He caught her hands as she came swiftly forward. “Why are you here? My God, why are you here?”
“I could stand it no longer,” she said breathlessly. “I am not going to marry Morland. I have cut myself adrift. They all know it. I told them so this evening. The horror of it was unbearable. I have done with it forever and ever.”
“The horror of it?” echoed Jimmie.
“Don't you think it a horror for two people to marry who have never even pretended to love each other? You said so this afternoon.”
He released her hands and turned aside. Even the deep exulting sense of what her presence there must mean could not mitigate a terrible dismay. The interpretation that staggered reason was the true and only one. He had been living in a dream, among shadow-shapes which he himself had cast upon the wall. Even now he could not grasp completely the extent of his heroical self-deception.
“There has never been any love between you and Morland? It has been a cold-blooded question of a marriage of convenience? I thought so differently.”
“Since when?” she asked. “Since this afternoon?”
“No—not since this afternoon.”
“If it had n't been for you, I should have married him. You made it impossible. You taught me things. You made me hate myself and my mean ambitions. That was why I hesitated—put it off till Easter. If I had n't seen you this afternoon I should have gone through with it on Wednesday. When I got home I could n't face it. He put some pearls—a wedding-present—round my neck. They seemed like dead fingers choking out my soul. At last it grew horrible. I said things I don't remember now. I could n't stay in the house. It suffocated me. It would have sent me mad. I think a cab whirled me through the streets. I don't know. I have burnt my ships.”