to marry me," she
said.
Harboro seemed staggered again. "I want his answer to that," he insisted.
"Well, then, I don't want to marry him," continued Sylvia.
Harboro ignored her. "What do you say, Runyon?"
"In view of her unwillingness, and the fact that she is already
married----"
"Runyon!" The word was pronounced almost like a snarl. Runyon had adopted
a facetious tone which had stirred Harboro's fury.
Something of the resiliency of Runyon's being vanished at that tone in the
other man's voice. He looked at Harboro ponderingly, as a child may look
at an unreasoning parent. And then he became alert again as Harboro threw
at him contemptuously: "Go on; get out!"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PART VII
SYLVIA
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER XXIX
Sylvia did not look at Runyon as he picked up his coat and hat and
vanished. She did not realize that he had achieved a perfect middle ground
between an undignified escape and a too deliberate going. She was
regarding Harboro wanly. "You shouldn't have come back," she said. She had
not moved.
"I didn't go away," said Harboro.
Her features went all awry. "You mean----"
"I've spent the day in the guest-chamber. I had to find out. I had to make
sure."
"Oh, Harboro!" she moaned; and then with an almost ludicrously swift
return to habitual, petty concerns: "You've had no food all day."
The bewildered expression returned to his eyes. "Food!" he cried. He
stared at her as if she had gone insane. "Food!" he repeated.
She groped about as if she were in the dark. When her fingers came into
contact with a chair she drew it toward her and sat down.
Harboro took a step forward. He meant to take a chair, too; but his eyes
were not removed from hers, and she shrank back with a soft cry of
terror.
"You needn't be afraid," he assured her. He sat down opposite her, slowly,
as very ill people sit down.
As if she were still holding to some thought that had been in her mind,
she asked: "What _do_ you mean to do, then?"
He was breathing heavily. "What does a man do in such a case?" he said--to
himself rather than to her, it might have seemed. "I shall go away," he
said at length. "I shall clear out." He brought his hands down upon the
arms of his chair heavily--not in wrath, but as if surrendering all hope
of seeing clearly. "Though it isn't a very
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