"Why, no," he said. "Of course I'm coming to see you—often. I———"
"No," she interrupted. "I've never had a feeling like this before. It's—it's just so; that's all! You're going—why, you're never coming here again!" She stood up, abruptly, beginning to tremble all over. "Why, it's finished, isn't it?" she said, and her trembling was manifest now in her voice. "Why, it's all over, isn't it. Why, yes!"
He had risen as she did. "I'm afraid you're awfully tired and nervous," he said. "I really ought to be going."
"Yes, of course you ought," she cried, despairingly. "There's nothing else for you to do. When anything's spoiled, people can't do anything but run away from it. So good-bye!"
"At least," he returned, huskily, "we'll only—only say good-night."
Then, as moving to go, he stumbled upon the Veranda steps, "Your hat!" she cried. "I'd like to keep it for a souvenir, but I'm afraid you need it!"
She ran into the hall and brought his straw hat from the chair where he had left it. "You poor thing!" she said, with quavering laughter. "Don't you know you can't go without your hat?"
