"I didn't come to be silly," he said to the table. "I hate people
who whine, and I've got into a damnable habit of being sorry for
myself! It's to laugh, isn't it, a great, hulking carcass like
me, to be--"
"Peter," said Harmony softly, "aren't you going to look at me?"
"I'm afraid."
"That's cowardice. And I've fixed my hair a new way. Do you like
it?"
"Splendid," said Peter to the center table.
"You didn't look!"
The rout of Harmony's eyes was supplemented by the rout of
Harmony's hair. Peter, goaded, got up and walked about. Harmony
was half exasperated; she would have boxed Peter's ears with a
tender hand had she dared.
His hands thrust savagely in his pockets, Peter turned and faced
her at last.
"First of all," he said, "I am going back to America, Harmony.
I've got all I can get here, all I came for--" He stopped, seeing
her face. "Well, of course, that's not true, I haven't. But I'm
going back, anyhow. You needn't look so stricken: I haven't lost
my chance. I'll come back sometime again and finish, when I've
earned enough to do it."
"You will never come back, Peter. You have spent all your money
on others, and now you are going back just where you were,
and--you are leaving me here alone!"
"You are alone, anyhow," said Peter, "making your own way and
getting along. And McLean will be here."
"Are you turning me over to him?"
No reply. Peter was pacing the floor.
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