ood link between us, Willie. We grew together. We are in one another's bones. I understand you. Now indeed I understand. In some way I have come to an understanding at a stride. Indeed I understand you and your dream. I want to help you. Edward--Edward has no dreams. . . . It is dreadful to me, Willie, to think we two are to part."
"But we have settled that--part we must."
"But why?"
"I love you."
"Well, and why should I hide it, Willie?--I love you. . . ." Our eyes met. She flushed, she went on resolutely: "You are stupid. The whole thing is stupid. I love you both."
I said, "You do not understand what you say. No!"
"You mean that I must go."
"Yes, yes. Go!"
For a moment we looked at one another, mute, as though deep down in the unfathomable darkness below the surface and present reality of things dumb meanings strove to be. She made to speak and desisted.
"But must I go?" she said at last, with quivering lips, and the tears in her eyes were stars. Then she began, "Willie--"
"Go!" I interrupted her. . . . "Yes."
Then again we were still.
She stood there, a tearful figure of pity, longing
