"She's very ill. I think she's going to die. She thinks so herself. She
wants to know if--if you'd go and see her."
He slipped down deeper into his chair, his chin sunk into his fist. It
was quite like the act of cowering. It was long before he spoke. When he
did so the tone of resentment was more bitter. "Does she realize what
she's done to me?"
"I think she does. In fact, it's the only thing she does realize very
clearly now. She talks of it continually, in her dreamy way--but a way
that's quite heartbreaking. I really think that if you were to see
her--"
He looked up under his lids and brows as she hesitated. "Well?" The
tone was as savage as courtesy would let him make it.
"That you'd forgive her."
His body bounded to an upright attitude, his hands thrust deep into
pockets. "No." If the word had been louder it would have been a shout.
"I shall never forgive her."
There was no change in her sweet reasonableness. "I don't see what you
gain by that."
"I gain this much--that I don't do it."
"I still can't see that it makes your situation any better, while it
makes hers a good deal worse."
"If hers is worse, mine _is_ better. The woman deliberately wrecked my
life after I'd been kind to her--for years."
"The poor thing didn't do it deliberately, Mr. Walker. She did it
because she couldn't help it--because she loved you so."