ou ’re just sorry for me. . . . You ’re just kind.” Hugh had read “Marpessa” many times, and a te from it came to make her attitude clear:
“thou wouldst grow kind; Most bitter to a woman that was loved.”
“Oh, I don’t know; I don’t know,” he said serably. “Let’s not call everything off now, Imthia. Let’s wait a while.” “No!” She stood up decisively. “No. I hate ose ends.” She glanced at her tiny wrist-watch, f I’m going to make that train, I’ve got to rry. We’ve got barely half an hour. Come, lugh. Be a sport.” He stood up, his face white and weary, his blue res dull and sad. “Just as you say, Cynthia,” he said slowly. “But ’m going to miss you like hell.” (She did not reply but started silently for the path. 5 followed her, and they walked back to the iternity house without saying a word, both busy 1 rh unhappy thoughts. When they reached the fraternity, she got her it-case, handed it to him, declined his offer of a j;i, and walked unhappily by his side down the l that they had climbed so gaily two days before, igh had just time to get her ticket before the in started.
