.. She could pretend, of course, that she had
returned merely to restore the jewels and the cigarette case; and he would
believe her, for he was generous.... She could, but--she could not. Not
now. Yesterday, the excitement had buoyed her; she had gained a piquant
enjoyment from befooling him, playing _her_ part of the amateur crackswoman
in this little comedy of the stolen jewels. But therein lay the difference:
yesterday it had been comedy, but to-day--ah! to-day she could no longer
laugh. For now she cared.
A little lie would clear her--yes. But it was not to be cleared that she
now so passionately desired; it was to have him believe in her, even
against the evidence of his senses, even in the face of the world's
condemnation; and so prove that he, too, cared--cared for her as his
attitude toward her had taught her to care....
Ever since leaving him in the dawn she had fed her starved heart with the
hope, faint hope though it were, that he would come to care a little, that
he would not utterly despise her, that he would understand and forgive,
when he learned why she had played out her part, nor believe that she was
the embodiment of all that was ignoble, coarse, and crude; that he would
show a little faith in her, a little faith that like a flickering taper
might light the way for ... Love.
But that hope was now dead within her, and cold. She had but to look at
him to see how groundless it had been, how utterly unmoved he was by her
distress.
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