She could not lift her face.
"Why--why shouldn't your dream come true too?" she sobbed. "You--who help
everybody--to get what they want!"
"My dear," Scott said, "my dream is over. Don't you grieve on my account!
God knows I'm not grieving for myself." His voice was low, but very
steadfast.
"You wouldn't!" said Dinah.
"No; because it's futile, unnecessary, a waste of time. I've other things
to do--plenty of other things." Scott braced himself with the words, as
one who manfully lifts a burden. "Cheer up, Dinah! I didn't mean to make
you sad."
"But--but--are you sure--quite sure--she didn't care?" faltered Dinah,
rubbing her eyes woefully.
"Quite sure," said Scott, with decision.
Dinah threw him a sudden, flashing glance of indignation. "Then she was a
donkey, Scott, a fool--an idiot!" she declared, with trembling vehemence.
"I'd like--oh, how I'd like--to tell her so."
Scott was smiling, his own, whimsical smile. "Yes, wouldn't you?" he
said. "And it's awfully nice of you to say so. But do you know, you're
quite wrong. She wasn't any of those things. On the other hand, I was all
three. But where's the use of talking? It's over, and a good thing too!"
Dinah slipped a quivering hand over his. "We'll always be friends, won't
we, Scott?" she said tremulously.
"Always," said Scott.
She squeezed his hand hard, and in response his fingers pressed her arm.
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