Good-night!"
"Good-night," said he, taking her outstretched hand for a second; then
he turned and walked away. There had not been much love-making--so far.
But he did not go straight to his lodgings. He wandered away aimlessly
through the dark streets. He felt sick at heart--not especially because
of this imbroglio into which he had walked with open eyes, for that did
not seem to matter much, one way or the other. But everything appeared
to have gone wrong with him since Nina had left; and the worst of it was
that he was gradually ceasing to care how things went, right or wrong.
At this moment, for example, he ought to have been thinking of the
situation he had created for himself, and resolving either to get out of
it before more harm was done, or to loyally fulfil his contract by
cultivating what affection for Miss Burgoyne was possible in the
circumstances. But he was not thinking of Miss Burgoyne at all. He was
thinking of Nina. He was thinking how hard it was that whenever his
fancy went in search of her--away to Malta, to Australia, to the United
States, as it might be--he could not hope to find a Nina whom he could
recognize. For she would be quite changed now.
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