"If this is what you are determined to do--" he heard himself saying
hardly, yet with a hint of deferred finality.

It was as if he had said, "If this, then, is what you are like! If
you are the soft, submissive harem creature, the toy, the
odalisque--If you will endure undesired love rather than face the
world--"

And she knew that was what he was saying to her. The injustice
brought a lump of self-pity to her throbbing throat.... That he
should not realize and honor the courage of her sacrifice.... That
he should reproach, despise.... She had expected other entreaties
... protestations....

Her heart ached with a throb of steady dreariness.

But she did not stir. Not a line of her drooping draperies wavered
towards him. And swallowing that lump in her throat, she achieved a
toneless, "That is what I am going to do."

At the other end of the garden a sound came from the house.

Ryder seemed to rouse himself. "Good-bye, then," he said,
uncertainly.

"Good-bye, monsieur."

He looked oddly at her. "Good-bye," he muttered again, and turned,
and stumbled out of the gate.