"Have me? In this way?"
"In any way."
"My poor girl--poor child!"
"Unless you grow tired--unless your patience gives out."
He was silent, and she went on insistently: "Don't you suppose I've
thought of that too--foreseen it?"
"Well--and then?" he exclaimed.
"I've accepted that too."
He dropped her hands with a despairing gesture. "Then, indeed, I waste
my breath!"
She made no answer, and for a time they sat silent again, a little
between them. At length he asked: "You're not crying?"
"No."
"I can't see your face, it's grown so dark."
"Yes. The storm must be coming." She made a motion as if to rise.
He drew close and put his arm about her. "Don't leave me yet. You know I
must go to-morrow." He broke off with a laugh. "I'm to break the news
to you to-morrow morning, by the way; I'm to take you out in the
motorlaunch and break it to you." He dropped her hands and stood up.
"Good God! How can I go and leave you here with him?"
"You've done it often."
"Yes; but each time it's more damnable. And then I've always had a
hope--"