Jimmy turned blindly to the door. He felt like a drunken man. He had
opened it when she called his name; when she followed and caught his
hand, holding him back.

"Jimmy, don't go like that--not without saying good-bye. We've been
such friends--we've had such good times together."

She was sobbing now; genuine enough sobs they seemed. She clung to him
desperately.

"I always loved you; you must have known that I did, only--only----
Oh, I couldn't bear to be poor! That was it, Jimmy. I couldn't face
being poor."

Jimmy stood like a statue. One might almost have thought he had not
been listening. Then suddenly he wrenched his hand free.

"Let me go, for God's sake--let me go!"

He left her there, sobbing and calling his name.

She heard him go down the stairs--heard the sullen slam of a distant
door; then she rushed over to the window.

It was too dark to see him as he strode away from the house; everything
seemed horribly silent and empty.

Jimmy had gone; and Cynthia Farrow knew, as she stood there in the
disordered room, that by sending him away she had made the greatest
mistake of her selfish life.