And now
that that hope was dead, the blackness of despair settled upon him.
That fact that Eleanor had broken faith with him, that she was willing to
renew her friendship with Harold Phipps when she knew what he was, that
she was willing to give up friends and family and her inheritance for the
sake of being with him, could have but one explanation.
Quin used to tell himself this again and again, as he lay in the hot
darkness with his hands clasped across his eyes. He used it as a whip
with which to scourge any vagrant hopes that dared creep into his heart.
Hadn't Miss Nell told him that she didn't care what he said or did, just
so he left her alone? Hadn't she let him come away without expressing a
regret for the past or a hope for the future?
But, even as his head condemned her, his heart rushed to her defense.
After all, she had never said she cared for him. And why should she care
for a fellow like him, with no education, or money, or position? Even
with her faults, she was too good for the best man living. But she cared
for Harold Phipps--and with that bitter thought the turmoil began all
over again.
He was not only unhappy, but intolerably lonely and ill.
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