Her lips quivered, and she glanced at me without replying.
“There is some mystery in all this, Muriel,” I said, bending across to her earnestly. “Why do you refuse to explain to me?”
“Because I cannot. If I could, I would.”
“Then if after to-night we are to part,” I went on bitterly, “mine will be a dismal future.”
“You have your own world,” she said. “You will quickly forget me among your gay friends, as you have already forgotten me times without number.”
I could not bear her reproaches; her words cut me to the quick.
“No. I have never forgotten you,” I protested quickly. “I shall never forget.”
“Did you not utter those same words to that woman who fascinated you a few months ago?” she suggested with a slight curl of the lip.
“If I did, it was because I was beneath the spell of her beauty—a beauty so mysterious as to be almost supernatural,” I answered. “I love you nevertheless,” I added in a low tone, so that none should overhear. “I swear I do.”
“It is useless,” she exclaimed, with a frown of displeasure. “Further discussion of the subject will lead to no alteration of my decision. You know me well enough to be aware that if I am determined no argument will turn me from my purpose.”