"Oh, I see," I answered—"and . . . and now?"
"Now we are almost done with each other," she answered.
I felt a sudden mental falling away. I had never looked at things in that way, had never really looked things in the face. I had grown so used to the idea that she was to parcel out the remainder of my life, had grown so used to the feeling that I was the integral portion of her life . . . "But I—" I said. "What is to become of me?"
She stood looking down at the ground . . . for a long time. At last she said in a low monotone:
"Oh, you must try to forget."
A new idea struck me—luminously, overwhelming. I grew reckless. "You—you are growing considerate," I taunted. "You are not so sure, not so cold. I notice a change in you. Upon my soul . . ."
Her eyes dilated suddenly, and as suddenly closed again. She said nothing. I grew conscious of unbearable pain, the pain of returning life. She was going away. I should be alone. The future began to exist again, looming up like
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