"Never mind," I said; "when you and Halsey are married you can be as
honest as you like, and you will certainly be poor."
Halsey came to the door at that moment and I could hear him coaxing
Liddy for admission to the sick room.
"Shall I bring him in?" I asked Louise, uncertain what to do. The girl
seemed to shrink back among her pillows at the sound of his voice. I
was vaguely irritated with her; there are few young fellows like
Halsey--straightforward, honest, and willing to sacrifice everything
for the one woman. I knew one once, more than thirty years ago, who
was like that: he died a long time ago. And sometimes I take out his
picture, with its cane and its queer silk hat, and look at it. But of
late years it has grown too painful: he is always a boy--and I am an
old woman. I would not bring him back if I could.
Perhaps it was some such memory that made me call out sharply.
"Come in, Halsey." And then I took my sewing and went into the boudoir
beyond, to play propriety. I did not try to hear what they said, but
every word came through the open door with curious distinctness.
Halsey had evidently gone over to the bed and I suppose he kissed her.
There was silence for a moment, as if words were superfluous things.
"I have been almost wild, sweetheart,"--Halsey's voice. "Why didn't
you trust me, and send for me before?"
"It was because I couldn't trust myself," she said in a low tone.
"I am too weak to struggle to-day; oh, Halsey, how I have wanted to see
you!"
There was something I did not hear, then Halsey again.
"We could go away," he was saying. "What does it matter about any one
in the world but just the two of us? To be always together, like this,
hand in hand; Louise--don't tell me it isn't going to be. I won't
believe you."
"You don't know; you don't know," Louise repeated dully. "Halsey, I
care--you know that--but--not enough to marry you."
"That is not true, Louise," he said sternly. "You can not look at me
with your honest eyes and say that."
"I can not marry you," she repeated miserably. "It's bad enough, isn't
it? Don't make it worse. Some day, before long, you will be glad."
"Then it is because you have never loved me." There were depths of
hurt pride in his voice. "You saw how much I loved you, and you let me
think you cared--for a while. No--that isn't like you, Louise. There
is something you haven't told me. Is it--because there is some one
else?"
"Yes," almost inaudibly.
"Louise! Oh, I don't believe it."