She stood, smiling vaguely down at the gloved hand on the crook of the
parasol. “If I were only younger--or more credulous,” said she. And I
knew that there was a thin, sour after-taste to the sparkling wine of
the prince’s love-making. I smiled--pleasant, noncommittal.
“I ask too much of life,” said she impatiently. “Isn’t it irritating
that I should become critical just as I am in a position to get
everything I’ve longed for and worked for?”
“Those moods pass,” said I.
“No doubt,” said she. “Well--good-by.” She put out her hand with a
radiant smile. “I’ll not annoy you any more.”
My answering smile and pressure of the hand were friendly, but
cautiously so, for I felt I was still on thin ice. I opened the door
for her. We shook hands again. Our eyes met. I think it must have given
each of us a shock to see in the other’s face the polite, distant look
of strangers parting. How easy it is for two to become like one--and
when they are, how impossible it seems that they could ever be aliens.
How easy it is for two that are as one to become utter strangers; the
sea is wide, and its currents curve rapidly away from each other.
“Rossiter,” said I--he was at work in the anteroom, “take Mrs. Loring
to her carriage, please.”
So--she was gone; I was free!