He could not see her; she touched the back of his coat with the tip of her fingers. That brought her some comfort.
"There is nothing more to be said," he went on.
"Let me see her portrait," said Anna, suddenly.
He pulled a small leather-case out of his breast-pocket.
"How did you know I had it?" he asked.
"I guessed," she said, with a faint smile; "you used to carry mine!" She studied the photograph for some minutes and then returned it. "You will be very glad," she said, "to remember me."
He looked at her more than half-credulously. She nodded her head. He laughed and went to kiss her.
Anna stepped back: her eyes blazed.
"Never do that again," she said.
A china vase—the one ornament in that bare room—stood near the doorway. Sir Richard lifted his cane and struck it. It fell in a dozen pieces.
"You have no heart," he said, "not an atom. You don't care for me in the least. You never did."
"Yes, I did" she answered.
"I will write."
"Yes, write." "I suppose I must go now." "Very well." She followed him into the hall. "Richard."
"Say—you don't care a damn!"
His lips moved, but he uttered no word.
And so he left her.
Her life with Sir Richard had been one of self-