CHAPTER XXVII
AGAIN THE WOMAN
IT seemed to me that door, now tightly closed, typified everything, and I remained staring at it, sitting motionless, with hand shading my eyes. It was all over, then—all over. There might have been friendship between us, but not love. I had come within the radius of her life too late for that. I could not comprehend how I had ever hoped it might be otherwise. Surely no act or word of hers had been meant to give me encouragement. Yet there was something in the depths of those frank eyes which had led me on, which had aroused confidence, and awakened my dream. Even now, staring at that tightly closed door, I could not entirely convince myself all was over between us. That parting contained a message of the eyes which would not permit me to think of her as being indifferent, or devoid of feeling. There was a touch of mystery about the girl which continued to tantalize and puzzle me. Even as the memory of her glance caused hope to revive, I called myself a fool for yielding to it. Surely her decision was definite enough, and she had clearly meant this was to end all. By seeking her again I would only torture us both to no purpose. It would be far better to accept her refusal, and depart as speedily as possible. Indeed, as a
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