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“
I
was
,
”
she
said
with
a
faint
emphasis
.
“
Why
do
you
say
‘
was
’
?
You
’
re
surely
not
thinking
of
going
?
There
can
’
t
be
kinder
people
anywhere
.
”
Darrow
hardly
knew
what
he
was
saying
;
but
her
answer
came
to
him
with
deadly
definiteness
.
“
I
suppose
it
depends
on
you
whether
I
go
or
stay
.
”
“
On
me
?
”
He
stared
at
her
across
Owen
’
s
scattered
papers
.
“
Good
God
!
What
can
you
think
of
me
,
to
say
that
?
”
The
mockery
of
the
question
flashed
back
at
him
from
her
wretched
face
.
She
stood
up
,
wandered
away
,
and
leaned
an
instant
in
the
darkening
window
-
frame
.
From
there
she
turned
to
fling
back
at
him
:
“
Don
’
t
imagine
I
’
m
the
least
bit
sorry
for
anything
!
”
He
steadied
his
elbows
on
the
table
and
hid
his
face
in
his
hands
.
It
was
harder
,
oh
,
damnably
harder
,
than
he
had
expected
!
Arguments
,
expedients
,
palliations
,
evasions
,
all
seemed
to
be
slipping
away
from
him
:
he
was
left
face
to
face
with
the
mere
graceless
fact
of
his
inferiority
.
He
lifted
his
head
to
ask
at
random
:
“
You
’
ve
been
here
,
then
,
ever
since
?
”
“
Since
June
;
yes
.
It
turned
out
that
the
Farlows
were
hunting
for
me
—
all
the
while
—
for
this
.
”
She
stood
facing
him
,
her
back
to
the
window
,
evidently
impatient
to
be
gone
,
yet
with
something
still
to
say
,
or
that
she
expected
to
hear
him
say
.
The
sense
of
her
expectancy
benumbed
him
.
What
in
heaven
’
s
name
could
he
say
to
her
that
was
not
an
offense
or
a
mockery
?
“
Your
idea
of
the
theatre
—
you
gave
that
up
at
once
,
then
?
”
