Page:The Dial (Volume 75).djvu/539

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
ELISABETH SANXAY HOLDING
457

to cheapen every detail. A sickening letter, as if she were grovelling at his feet. . . . He had known at the first glance that she had suffered; that was enough to know of any human creature.


"You can't think what it means to me to write this letter. I know it may be the end of everything. But I couldn't let you go on thinking I was different and better than I really am. You said I was gentle and good and kind. You said it was a blessing to have me near you. But if I deceived you, and you found out, it would be a curse. I know what it is to be deceived in people. I wouldn't do that to you. I want you to know all about me.

"I think you know how hard life is for some people, and may be you can still go on being friends with me. I'm not trying to excuse any of the wrong things I have done, but some of it was not my fault. I am not going to work to-day. I shall stay in my room and wait to see how you feel about it. If you don't come by noon, I shall know that you feel you can't be friends any more. I won't blame you. I promise you I won't blame you, not one bit. Only, if you can't, I don't think I can go on any longer. I won't mind not going on."


She had signed this "Elaine," and after the signature there was a postscript:


"Please believe that I won't mind not going on. I am pretty much discouraged anyhow and I know a very easy way."


His hand was raised to knock at her door when he stopped.

"But what am I to say?" he thought, in a panic. "What am I to do? Friends! It's not quite that with her, poor little devil. What can I do but go on hurting her for a little while longer? I couldn't keep it up. She'd know . . ."

He turned back into his own room and walked up and down, in anguish, in intolerable longing to be free.

"I couldn't keep it up. . . . If I don't go to her, she'll think that I loved her and that her letter overwhelmed me. . . . She'll think it's a tragedy. . . . O God! Isn't it better to make it a tragedy, instead of playing out the farce? Go and tell her the letter doesn't make any difference and I'm still her friend?