And even as she hurt him, she
made him love her the more; for he appreciated how
rare was the woman who, in such circumstances, does
not feed her vanity with pity for the poor man suffering
so horribly because he is not to get her precious
self.
It flashed upon her why he had not offered to help
her. ``There isn't anybody like you,'' said she, with no
explanation of her apparent irrelevancy.
``Don't let Moldini see that you know,'' said he, with
characteristic fine thoughtfulness for others in the midst
of his own unhappiness. ``It would deprive him of a
great pleasure.''
He was about to go. Suddenly her eyes filled and,
opening the outer door, she drew him in. ``Donald,'' she
said, ``I love you. Take me in your arms and make
me behave.''
He looked past her; his arms hung at his sides. Said
he: ``And to-night I'd get a note by messenger saying
that you had taken it all back. No, the girl in the
photograph--that was you. She wasn't made to be MY
wife. Or I to be her husband.
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