"Think back," he said. "Think of those days in New York, the
life we led, the wild things we did week after week, month after
month, the same eternal round of turning night into day, of
struggling everywhere to find new pleasures, pulling vice to
pieces like children trying to find the inside of their
playthings."
"I don't like your mood in the least," she interrupted.
He drummed for a moment upon the tablecloth with his fingers.
"We were talking of Beatrice. You don't even know where she is
now, then?"
"I have no idea," Elizabeth declared.
"She was with you for long in Cornwall?" he asked.
Elizabeth toyed with her wineglass for a minute.
"She was there about a month," she admitted.
"And she didn't approve of the way you and Wenham behaved?" he
demanded.
"Apparently not. She left us, anyway. She didn't understand
Wenham in the least. I shouldn't be surprised," Elizabeth went
on, "to hear that she was a hospital nurse, or learning typing,
or a clerk in an office. She was a young woman of gloomy ideas,
although she was my sister."
He came a little closer towards her.
"Elizabeth," he said, "we will not talk any more about Beatrice.
We will not talk any more about anything except our two selves."
"Are you really glad to see me again, Jerry?" she asked softly.
"You must know it, dear," he whispered. "You must know that I
loved you always, that I adored you. Oh, you knew it! Don't
tell me you didn't.
Pages:
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269