“Poor Alexis, don’t take it so seriously. We would be utterly miserable together. You know it. Come, let us be content to be friends.”
She held out her hand, but he backed away angrily.
“You are heartless—cruel.” He threw himself down upon the small divan before the fire, flinging his head back amongst the cushions. “You know that you are the only thing in the world that makes life worth living for me, and yet you deny yourself to me, just because you are afraid of what people will say. Of what that cackling crowd of snickerers downstairs might think of you. I thought you were bigger than that, Anne.”
She looked down into the wrathful face with recovered self-possession.
“That crowd of snickerers, as you so politely call them, means very little in my life. But my own self-respect happens to mean a great deal. If you expect me to become your mistress just because you appeal to my compassion, you are doomed to disappointment! If my friendship will content you, that is another thing.”
Her coldness fell upon him like a revivifying shower. The apathetic young figure sprang from the divan with a bound.
“What an ass I’ve made of myself! Just because you were kind, I was fool enough to imagine you loved me. I suppose it didn’t seem possible that I could feel about you the way I do without any return from you. I—I think I’d better go.”
“No, no, Alexis, you don’t understand.”
He ignored her imploring gesture, and taking up his hat and coat, started for the door. But it was too late.
A languid footfall fell outside in the corridor. Before Anne could reach the door, it opened to admit Ellen Barnes, a rising wave of voices mounting in her wake.