"I do not understand you," he said bluntly, and in truth he did not.
This pale-faced woman with the earnest eyes deep underlined with the
marks of sleepless nights was a riddle which his stiff, conventional
imagination could not solve.
"Is it necessary that you should understand?" she answered. "I have
not asked you to explain why, still loving her, you threw Lois over. I
believe that you had some grave reason. It could not be graver than
mine for doing what I am doing."
"Then you mean that--it is entirely over between us?"
"Yes, it is over between us. Your sense of justice will not have to
undergo the ordeal of forcing your sense of honor to link itself with
dishonor. To your credit, I believe you would have married me, John,
and I am grateful. But there's an end of it. I have come to say
good-by. I suppose it is absurd, but I wish we could remain friends."
This time he took her hand in his. Now that the artificial union
between them was done away with, their real friendship for each other
came back and took its rightful place in their lives.
"Why shouldn't we, Beatrice?" he said. "Heaven knows, we both have
need of friends."
"It is a strange thing," she continued thoughtfully, "that, though you
are so completely my opposite, I have always liked you. Even when you
most jarred upon me with your prunes-and-prisms morality, I was never
able quite to close my heart. I wonder why?"
He could not repress a faint amusement at the flash of her old self.
Pages:
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287