She rose, too, not encouraging him to stay.
"Miss Connor," he spoke gravely, "there was something else I came to
ask you. I'd like to know you personally as well as in a business way,
if you'd just as soon. May I come to see you now and then?"
She did not answer. She saw that it counted with him. He seemed
really to care. She must not be brusque with him. He must not think
her merely light-minded, unappreciative of the compliment of his
interest. She must tell him of her marriage.
"Of course, if you'd rather not for any reason, why, that settles it,"
there was a check in his voice, "and we'll say no more about it." Still
she did not answer. He held out his hand. "Well, good-bye, then."
"Good-bye."
He went to the door and opened it.
"Mr. Stevens."
"Yes, Miss Connor."
"I think you ought to know that isn't my name."
"What is it, then?"
"Mrs. Connor."
"Mrs. Connor? Missis Connor?"
"Yes."
He came down into the room. His glance traveled rapidly to the four
corners, like a wild animal dodging men and dogs. He had one question
left, one chance of escape.
"Are you a widow?" he said.
"No, a married woman."
Stevens went slowly out of the door without replying. The woman whom
he loved belonged to another man. It was like the end of the world.