He believed that now, after her conversation
with Stanton, she clearly saw that the absurdly ardent friendship
he had urged upon her was only the incipient stage of a new passion
in a fickle wretch who had dared to trifle with a girl like Jennie
Burton--a maiden that, of all others in the world, a man of honor
would shield.
As for Miss Burton herself, now that he realized his situation,
he felt that he could never look her in the face again. To try to
resume his old relations seemed to be impossible. He never had and
never could say to her a word that he knew was insincere. Besides,
he was sure that such an effort would be futile, for she would
detect his hollowness at once, and he feared a glance of scorn from
her blue eyes more than the lightning of heaven. He resolved to
leave the Lake House on Monday, and from New York write to Miss
Burton the unvarnished truth, assuring her that he knew himself to
be unworthy even to speak to her again. Then, as soon as he could
complete his preparations, he would go abroad and give himself
wholly to his art.
Having come to these conclusions, he stole by a side entrance like
a guilty shadow to his room and tried to obtain such rest as is
possible to those who are in the hell of mental torment.
Pages:
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674