"
She interposed, with a gesture of protest: "I'm not
responsible for Owen's ravings!"
"Of course----". He broke off and they stood facing each
other. She lifted a hand and pushed back her loose lock
with the gesture that was burnt into his memory; then she
looked about her and dropped into the nearest chair.
"Well, you've got what you wanted," she said.
"What do you mean by what I wanted?"
"My engagement's broken--you heard me say so."
"Why do you say that's what I wanted? All I wished, from the
beginning, was to advise you, to help you as best I could--
--"
"That's what you've done," she rejoined. "You've convinced
me that it's best I shouldn't marry him."
Darrow broke into a despairing laugh. "At the very moment
when you'd convinced me to the contrary!"
"Had I?" Her smile flickered up. "Well, I really believed
it till you showed me...warned me..."
"Warned you?"
"That I'd be miserable if I married a man I didn't love."
"Don't you love him?"
She made no answer, and Darrow started up and walked away to
the other end of the room. He stopped before the writing-
table, where his photograph, well-dressed, handsome, self-
sufficient--the portrait of a man of the world, confident of
his ability to deal adequately with the most delicate
situations--offered its huge fatuity to his gaze. He turned
back to her. "It's rather hard on Owen, isn't it, that you
should have waited until now to tell him?"
She reflected a moment before answering.
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