“Then I say, impassioned, ‘Ellen, you can not afford a new husband at this time. Why not cling to the old? I am still fond of you’—but, Mr. Chan”—his old voice broke—“need I discuss that scene?”
“Not at all,” Chan answered, “except to tell me her reply.”
“It was,” Romano bowed his head, “it was not flattering to me. Imagine, if you can—after all I had done for her—cared for her like a bambino. The airplane was now approaching the house. She leaped to her feet, flung wide the windows. ‘Come and see me in Reno,’ she cried. ‘I will do what I can.’ And she ran on to the balcony.”
“And you, Mr. Romano?”
“Me—I was broken-hearted. I stared at her there on the balcony—it was to be my last sight of her alive—though of course I did not know that. Then I returned to my room, closed my door. I sat
