Part 19 (2/2)
”Yes. Sit down, please.” The voice was thick. ”I have several things to tell you. This was only one.”
For long, interminably long it seemed to the watcher, the girl stood where she had paused, midway; the figure of her still, too still, her face shading first red to the ear tips, then slowly colorless as understanding drove home. A half-minute probably, in reality, immeasurably longer to them both it seemed, she stood so. Without a word she went back to her seat, remained there, unnaturally still, her arms, bare to the elbow in half sleeves, forming a great white V as the clasped hands lay motionless in her lap.
For another half-minute no word was spoken, no sound from without drifted into the room. Suddenly the girl turned, her great dark eyes met those of the man, held them steadily.
”You said there was something else you wished to tell me. I can't imagine anything more, anything you didn't tell just now. However, I'm listening.”
The man said nothing, nor moved--just looked at her.
”I repeat, I'm listening.”
”Yes, I notice.” Armstrong pulled himself together absently. ”I was thinking of something else; I'd forgotten momentarily. I always was an absent-minded specimen; and lately--I've been worse than usual lately.”
The girl merely waited this time, the great brown eyes wide and dry.
”When it comes to telling you, though,” stumbled on the man, ”what I came to tell you to-night, what I don't wish to tell you but must--Elice, don't look at me, please; don't! My nerve's gone. Don't you wish to ask me questions instead?”
”Perhaps,” obediently the girl turned away, ”after you've made things clear a bit. Don't fancy I'm trying to make it hard for you. I'm not, only, only--Remember, I'm all in the dark yet, all confused.”
”Yes, I know--and I'm to blame. I've been trying for a week to bring myself to tell you, one thing at a time; but I couldn't, and now--everything's tumbled on my head together now.”
”Everything? Steve, begin somewhere, anywhere. Don't suggest things; tell me. It's been ten days since you called last. Why was that?”
”I was afraid. I tried to come, but I couldn't.”
”Afraid of what?”
”Of you, of myself, of life. I've known that long to a certainty that the play was over between you and me, but I couldn't bring myself to say the word. It's just this I was afraid of. This!”
”You mean to tell me now that all is over?” Unconsciously this time the girl had s.h.i.+fted facing; quietly--again, too quietly--was putting the query direct: ”That's what you're telling me now?”
”Yes.”
”And why--Am I the cause--have I by word or act--have I?”
”No.”
”Is it because you've lost your chair in the University?”
”No.”
”Why, then?”
”Because we've ceased to be necessary to each other, have grown apart.”
”You think we've changed?... I've not changed.”
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