She glanced about,
at the white trellises that gleamed in the garden, at the silvery
fleur de lis which was the fountain, at all the lovely things with
which Clayton's wealth had allowed her to surround herself. And
suddenly she knew she could not give them up.
"I don't see why you have to spoil everything," she said fretfully.
"It had been so perfect. Of course I'm not going to say anything to
Clay. He has enough to worry him now," she added, virtuously.
Suddenly Rodney stooped and kissed her, almost savagely.
"Then I'm going," he said. And to her great surprise he went.
Alone in his room up-stairs Rodney had, in his anger, a glimpse of
insight. He saw her, her life filled with small emotions, lacking
the courage for big ones. He saw her, like a child, clutching one
piece of cake and holding out a hand for another. He saw her,
taking always, giving never.
"She's not worth it," he muttered.
On the way to the station he reflected bitterly over the past year.
He did not blame her so much as he blamed himself.
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