"I am so lonely," she begged. "I have thought of you so much.
Don't go away unkindly. Stay with me for this evening, at any
rate. You can see Beatrice at any time. It is I who need you
most now."
He looked around at the splendid apartment; he looked at the
woman whose fingers, glittering with jewels, rested upon his
shoulders. Then he thought of Beatrice in her shabby black gown
and wan little face, and very gently he removed her hands.
"No," he said, "I do not think that you need me any more than I
need you. This is a caprice of yours. You know it and I know
it. Is it worth while to play with one another?"
Her hands fell to her sides. She turned half away but she said
nothing. Tavernake, with a sudden impulse which had in it
nothing of passion--very little, indeed, of affection--lifted her
fingers to his lips and passed out of the room. He descended the
stairs, filled with a wonderful sense of elation, a buoyancy of
spirit which he could not understand. As he walked blithely to
his hotel, however, he began to realize how much he had dreaded
this interview. He was a free man, after all. The spell was
broken. He could think of her now as she deserved to be thought
of, as a consummate woman of the world, selfish, heartless,
conscienceless. He was well out of her toils. It was nothing to
him if even he had known that at that moment she was lying upon
the sofa to which she had staggered as he left the room, weeping
bitterly.
Pages:
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339