"All?" he said blankly.
"You haven't forgotten, have you? I--I am engaged to somebody else."
Henri stood still, swaying a little.
"And you love him? More than you care for me?"
"He is--he is my kind," said Sara Lee rather pitifully. "I am not what
you think me. You see me here, doing what you think is good work, and
you are grateful. And you don't see any other women. So I--"
"And you think I love you because I see no one else?" he demanded, still
rather stunned.
"Isn't that part of it?"
He flung out his hands as though he despaired of making her understand.
"This man at home--" he said bitterly; "this man who loves you so well
that he let you cross the sea and come here alone--do you love him very
dearly?"
"I am promised to him."
All at once Sara Lee saw the little parlor at home, and Harvey, gentle,
rather stolid and dependable. Oh, very dependable. She saw him as he
had looked the night he had said he loved her, rather wistful and very,
very tender. She could not hurt him so. She had said she was going
back to him, and she must go.
"I love him very much, Henri."
Very quietly, considering the hell that was raging in him, Henri bent
over and kissed her hand. Then he turned it over, and for an instant
he held his cheek against its warmth. He went out at once, and Sara
Lee heard the door slam.