"You were hurt," he said, tenderly. "I'm so sorry."
"Yes. I was hurt quite a good deal."
"But you're all right now, and I'm so glad!"
"Thank you," she answered, listlessly.
Her eyes roved about the room, observing every detail of furniture and
ornament. It was old-fashioned, and in a way queer, she thought. She was
glad that she would never have to live there.
Allison watched her eagerly. Like a wayfarer in the desert thirsting for
water, he longed for her tenderness; for one unsought kiss, even in
farewell. His pride sustained him no longer. "Dear," he pleaded, like
the veriest beggar; "won't you kiss me just once?"
Isabel hesitated. "It isn't proper," she murmured, "now that we are no
longer engaged. I'm sorry you got hurt," she added, as an afterthought.
Allison's face paled suddenly. So, she accepted her release! Then eager
justification of her made him wonder if by any chance she could have
misunderstood.
"Dearest," he said, with cold lips, "did you think for a single instant
that I wanted to release you? I did it because it was the only thing an
honourable man could do and I wouldn't let pity for me hold you to a
promise made in love.
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