"
The room had become dimmer; the light on her hair and face and hands
glimmered dully as she passed and re-passed him in her restless progress--
restless, dismayed, frightened progress toward a goal she already saw
ahead--close ahead of her--every time she turned to look at him. She
already knew the end.
_That_ man! And she knew that already he must be, for her, something that
she could never again forget--something she must reckon with forever and
ever while life endured.
She paused and inspected him almost insolently. Suddenly the rush of the
last revolt overwhelmed her; her eyes blazed, her white hands tightened
into two small clenched fists--and then tumult died in her ringing ears,
the brightness of the eyes was quenched, her hands relaxed, her head sank
low, lower, never again to look on this man undismayed, heart free,
unafraid--never again to look into this man's eyes with the unthinking,
unbelieving tranquillity born of the most harmless skepticism in the
world.
She stood there in silence, heard his step beside her, raised her head
with an effort.
"Betty!"
Her hands quivered, refusing surrender. He bent and lifted them, pressing
them to his eyes, his forehead. Then lowered them to the level of his
lips, holding them suspended, eyes looking into hers, waiting.
Suddenly her eyes closed, a convulsive little tremor swept her, she
pressed both clasped hands against his lips, her own moved, but no words
came--only a long, sweet, soundless sigh, soft as the breeze that stirs
the crimson maple buds when the snows of spring at last begin to melt.
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