within himself, until a chorus of laughter would
again force him to smile. Yet she had understood,
and she had excused him. She had thought
him resigned and content to be merely one of the
crowd. And then had come that opportunity
which evidently he had sought. It had come as
a surprise. But with it had come also a sudden
desire to be alone with him, and to impress upon
him her convictions. So they had gone out into
the moonlight, to the corral fence, and to Pat,
where she had endeavored to make everything
clear. And then their return, and the departure
of her guests, and his lingering on the porch, and
his decision to go away, to leave her for ever.
He hadn't put it in just that way! But that was
what he was doing -- that was what he had done.
He had gone from her for ever.

The thought hurt. It hurt because she knew
what part she had taken in it. She knew that she
herself had sent him away. And when he had left
her she knew, as she knew now, that in her heart
she did not want it. For she liked him -- liked his
society. She liked his care-free manner, his whimsical
outlook upon her country, his many natural
talents -- his playing, and the naivete of his singing,
while he often admitted that his voice hurt
him, and so must hurt others. No, she had not
wanted him to go away. And somehow it had
never occurred to her that he would go for ever.
But he was gone, and she could not resign herself.
Yet there was no calling him back. She had made
a decision, had forced him to understand certain

[[146]]

p145 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p146w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p147

v?