Dick dared not look at her. He felt, though he did
not know, all that the past four years had been to him, and this the more
acutely since he had no knowledge to put his feelings in words.
"I don't know," she said. "I suppose it is."
"Maisie, you must know. I'm not supposing."
"Let's go home," said Maisie, weakly.
But Dick was not minded to retreat.
"I can't say things," he pleaded, "and I'm awfully sorry for teasing you about
Amomma the other day. It's all different now, Maisie, can't you see? And you
might have told me that you were going, instead of leaving me to find out."
"You didn't. I did tell. Oh, Dick, what's the use of worrying?"
"There isn't any; but we've been together years and years, and I didn't know
how much I cared."
"I don't believe you ever did care."
"No, I didn't; but I do,--I care awfully now, Maisie," he gulped,--"Maisie,
darling, say you care too, please."
"I do, indeed I do; but it won't be any use."
"Why?"
"Because I am going away."
"Yes, but if you promise before you go. Only say--will you?" A second "darling"
came to his lips more easily than the first. There were few endearments in
Dick's home or school life; he had to find them by instinct. Dick caught the
little hand blackened with the escaped gas of the revolver.
Pages:
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859