For an instant, Alfred looked down at Zoie, undecided whether to
strangle her or to return her embraces. As usual, his
self-respect won the day for him and, with a determined effort,
he lifted her high in the air, so that she lost her tenacious
hold of him, and sat her down with a thud in the very same chair
in which she had lately dropped his hat. Having acted with this
admirable resolution, he strode majestically toward the inner
hall, but before he could reach it, Zoie was again on her feet,
in a last vain effort to conciliate him. Turning, Alfred caught
sight of his poor battered hat. This was the final spur to
action. Snatching it up with one hand, and throwing his latchkey
on the table with the other, he made determinedly for the outer
door.
Screaming hysterically, Zoie caught him just as he reached the
threshold and threw the whole weight of her body upon him.
"Alfred," she pleaded, "if you REALLY love me, you CAN'T leave me
like this!" Her emotion was now genuine. He looked down at her
gravely-- then into the future.
"There are other things more important than what YOU call 'love,'
" he said, very solemnly.
"There is such a thing as a soul, if you only knew it. And you
have hurt mine through and through."
"But how, Alfred, how?" asked the small person, and there was a
frown of genuine perplexity on her tiny puckered brow.
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