“Hugh, I have to go.”
She led me through the dark, shrouded drawing room into the little salon where the windows were open on the silent city-garden. I took her in my arms; she did not resist, as I half expected, but clung to me with what seemed desperation.
“I have to go, dear—you won't make it too hard for me! It's only—ordinary decency, and there's no one else to go to him.”
She drew me to the sofa, her eyes beseeching me.
“Listen, dear, I want you to see it as I see it. I know that you will, that you do. I should never be able to forgive myself if I stayed away now, I—neither of us could ever be happy about it. You do see, don't you?” she implored.
“Yes,” I admitted agitatedly.
Her grasp on my hand tightened.
“I knew you would. But it makes me happier to hear you say it.”
We sat for a moment in helpless silence, gazing at one another. Slowly her eyes had filled.
“Have you heard anything more?” I managed to ask.