"If you mean about Carlotta, I forgave that long ago."
He was almost boyishly relieved. What a wonder she was! So lovely, and so
sane. Many a woman would have held that over him for years--not that he
had done anything really wrong on that nightmare excursion. But so many
women are exigent about promises.
"When are you going to marry me?"
"We needn't discuss that to-night, Max."
"I want you so very much. I don't want to wait, dear. Let me tell Ed that
you will marry me soon. Then, when I go away, I'll take you with me."
"Can't we talk things over when you are stronger?"
Her tone caught his attention, and turned him a little white. He faced her
to the window, so that the light fell full on her.
"What things? What do you mean?"
He had forced her hand. She had meant to wait; but, with his keen eyes on
her, she could not dissemble.
"I am going to make you very unhappy for a little while."
"Well?"
"I've had a lot of time to think. If you had really wanted me, Max--"
"My God, of course I want you!"
"It isn't that I am angry. I am not even jealous. I was at first. It
isn't that. It's hard to make you understand. I think you care for me--"
"I love you! I swear I never loved any other woman as I love you."
Suddenly he remembered that he had also sworn to put Carlotta out of his
life. He knew that Sidney remembered, too; but she gave no sign.
"Perhaps that's true. You might go on caring for me. Sometimes I think
you would. But there would always be other women, Max. You're like that.
Perhaps you can't help it."
"If you loved me you could do anything with me." He was half sullen.
By the way her color leaped, he knew he had struck fire. All his
conjectures as to how Sidney would take the knowledge of his entanglement
with Carlotta had been founded on one major premise--that she loved him.
The mere suspicion made him gasp.
"But, good Heavens, Sidney, you do care for me, don't you?"
"I'm afraid I don't, Max; not enough."
She tried to explain, rather pitifully. After one look at his face, she
spoke to the window.
"I'm so wretched about it. I thought I cared. To me you were the best and
greatest man that ever lived. I--when I said my prayers, I--But that
doesn't matter. You were a sort of god to me. When the Lamb--that's one
of the internes, you know--nicknamed you the 'Little Tin God,' I was angry.
You could never be anything little to me, or do anything that wasn't big.
Do you see?"