It crushed Phil so far as she
is concerned. He will not see her again voluntarily, and he will not
forget if he does. You can take it from him, and from me, we have
accepted the lady's decision. Will you have a cup of coffee?"
Twice Henderson opened his lips to speak of Edith Carr's despair. Twice
he looked into the stern, inflexible face of Mr. Ammon and could not
betray her. He held out the ring.
"I have no instructions as to that," said the elder Ammon, drawing back.
"Possibly Miss Carr would have it as a keepsake."
"I am sure not," said Henderson curtly.
"Then suppose you return it to Peacock. I will phone him. He will give
you the price of it, and you might add it to the children's Fresh Air
Fund. We would be obliged if you would do that. No one here cares to
handle the object."
"As you choose," said Henderson. "Good morning!"
Then he went to his home, but he could not think of sleep. He ordered
breakfast, but he could not eat. He paced the library for a time, but it
was too small. Going on the streets he walked until exhausted, then
he called a hansom and was driven to his club. He had thought himself
familiar with every depth of suffering; that night had taught him that
what he felt for himself was not to be compared with the anguish which
wrung his heart over the agony of Edith Carr. He tried to blame Philip
Ammon, but being an honest man, Henderson knew that was unjust. The
fault lay wholly with her, but that only made it harder for him, as he
realized it would in time for her.
Pages:
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360