He glanced at her, and then at his watch.
"See here, Honora, I ought to go over to Mr. Wing's. I wired him I'd be there at four-thirty."
"Don't let me keep you," she replied.
"By gad, you are pale!" he said. "What's got into the women these days? They never used to have these confounded nerves. Well, if you are bent on it, I suppose there's no use trying to stop you. Go off somewhere and take a rest, and when you come back you'll see things differently."
She held out her hand.
"Good-by, Howard," she said. "I wanted you to know that I didn't—bear you any ill-will—that I blame myself as much as you. More, if anything. I hope you will be happy—I know you will. But I must ask you to believe me when I say that I shan't come back. I—I am leaving all the valuable things you gave me. You will find them on my dressing-table. And I wanted to tell you that my uncle sent me a little legacy from my father-an unexpected one—that makes me independent."
He did not take her hand, but was staring at her now, incredulously.
"You mean you are actually going?" he exclaimed.
"Yes."
"But—what shall I say to Mr. Wing? What will he think?"