She does not catch it. She watches me, and I begin to weep; and where she might say anything to comfort me—anything at all— what she says is: ''Mr Rivers.''
I look from her in contempt, then. She comes and leads me to the chapel door—perhaps, to turn my thoughts to marriage. The door is locked and can''t be passed. She waits for me to speak. At last I tell her, dutifully: ''Mr Rivers has asked me to marry him, Sue.''
She says she is glad. And, when I weep again—false tears, this time, that wash away the true ones—and when I choke and wring my hands and cry out, ''Oh! What shall I do?'', she touches me and holds my gaze, and says: ''He loves you.''
''You think he does?''
She says she knows it. She does not flinch. She says, ''You must follow your heart.''
''I am not sure,'' I say. ''If I might only be sure!''
''But to love,'' she says, ''and then to lose him!''
I grow too conscious of the closeness of her gaze, and look away. She talks to me of beating blood, of thrilling voices, of dreams. I feel his kiss, like a burn upon my palm; and all at once she sees, not that I love him, but how much I have come to fear and hate him.
She grows white. ''What will you do?'' she says, in a whisper.
''What can I do?'' I say. ''What choice have I?''