I know--how she
cares for me. And it shames her--it reminds her--Don't you see how it
hurts her?"
"Yes. I see. So that even that little--" Miss Heydinger's breath
seemed to catch and she was abruptly silent.
She spoke at last with an effort. "That it hurts _me_," she said, and
grimaced and stopped again.
"No," said Lewisham, "that is not it." He hesitated.
"I _knew_ this would hurt you."
"You love her. You can sacrifice--"
"No. It is not that. But there is a difference. Hurting _her_--she
would not understand. But you--somehow it seems a natural thing for me
to come to you. I seem to look to you--For her I am always making
allowances--"
"You love her."
"I wonder if it _is_ that makes the difference. Things are so
complex. Love means anything--or nothing. I know you better than I do
her, you know me better than she will ever do. I could tell you things
I could not tell her. I could put all myself before you--almost--and
know you would understand--Only--"
"You love her."
"Yes," said Lewisham lamely and pulling at his moustache. "I suppose
... that must be it."
For a space neither spoke. Then Miss Heydinger said "_Oh_!" with
extraordinary emphasis.
"To think of this end to it all! That all your promise ... What is it
she gives that I could not have given?
"Even now! Why should I give up that much of you that is mine? If she
could take it--But she cannot take it.
Pages:
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293