He stood for a moment
quite still, his mind fled far away and he forgot where he was.
And because of this the little simpleton's shallow discretion
deserted her.
"If you were a--a marrying man--?" she said foolishly--almost in
a whisper.
He recovered himself.
"I am not," with a finality which cut as cleanly as a surgical
knife.
Something which was not the words was of a succinctness which
filled her with new terror.
"I--I know!" she whimpered, "I only said if you were!"
"If I were--in this instance--it would make no difference." He saw
the kind of slippery silliness he was dealing with and what it
might transform itself into if allowed a loophole. "There must be
no mistakes."
In her fright she saw him for a moment more distinctly than she
had ever seen him before and hideous dread beset her lest she had
blundered fatally.
"There shall be none," she gasped. "I always knew. There shall be
none at all."
"Do you know what you are asking me?" he inquired.
"Yes, yes--I'm not a girl, you know. I've been married. I won't
go home. I can't starve or live in awful lodgings. SOMEBODY must
save me!"
"Do you know what people will say?" his steady voice was slightly
lower.
"It won't be said to me." Rather wildly. "Nobody minds--really."
He ceased altogether to look serious. He smiled with the light
detached air his world was most familiar with.
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