He had no plea for himself; he saw that it would be useless. I stabbed him
the more viciously as the anger died out of his face and left it only
grave and pained. He looked older than I had ever seen him before; and on
his temple, where he turned toward the window, gleamed a little streak of
gray.
"But, Nelly, what will you do?" he said at last.
His tone was as level as if he were discussing some trivial matter. He had
given up the fight, and, paying no heed to my unkindness, had fallen back
upon the old habit, the instinct of looking out for me, smoothing my way
after his own fashion that is so irritating.
"You can't stay among these--these strangers, can you?" he continued. "Are
you going home?"
"To the farm? Never, I hope. Mrs. Van Dam, my chaperon, has many plans for
me--better form than talking things over with a man. In the spring we may
go abroad."
He tried--poor, foolish fellow--to read from my face the riddle of a
woman's heart before he answered:--
"I'm afraid I don't altogether understand you, Nelly."
Presently he left me, wondering, even as I wonder now: Why don't I care
for John? He's a strong man and he loves me.
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