He's got my name now, and
he'll never know the difference if I can help it."
"And Birdie? Does she know you when you go to see her?"
"Not for two years now. It's easier than when she did."
There was silence between them; then Nance said:
"I'm glad you told me all this, Dan. I--I wish I could help you."
"You can't," said Dan, sharply. "Don't you see I've got no right to be
with you? Do you suppose there's been a week, or a day in all these years
that I haven't wanted you with every breath I drew? The rest was just a
nightmare I was living through in order to wake up and find you. Nance--I
love you! With my heart and soul and body! You've been the one beautiful
thing in my whole life, and I wasn't worthy of you. I can't let you go!
I--Oh, God! what am I saying? What right have I--Don't let me see you
again like this, Nance, don't let me talk to you--"
He stumbled to a chair by the desk and buried his head in his arms. His
breath came in short, hard gasps, with a long agonizing quiver between,
and his broad shoulders heaved. It was the first time he had wept since
that night, so long ago, when he had sat in the gutter in front of Slap
Jack's saloon and broken his heart over an erring mother.
For one tremulous second Nance hovered over him, her face aflame with
sympathy and almost maternal pity; then she pulled herself together and
said brusquely:
"It's all right, Danny. I understand. I'm going. Good-by."
And without looking back, she fled into the hall and down the steps to
the waiting motor.
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