"Don't think of evidence now," she begged in a piteous voice. "Think—try to think—just of me."
"I've done little else but that, Alison, since the first night I saw you," he told her with a faint, sad smile.
"Then—" She caught her breath with a quivering sound. "Look at me, David!" Her hand fluttered towards him and touched his wrist. "Look!"
Slowly he turned, and found himself gazing deep into her eyes—straight-seeing eyes, clear and soft blue as violets—eyes overflowing with womanly sweetness, giving back his glance, unafraid and unashamed.
"Do you believe?" she whispered.
He gazed long and searchingly, and somehow all sense of doubting left him. "I do!" he declared suddenly, in a straining voice. "I've got to. What else can I do? It's impossible not to believe the truth when you see it. I believe in you."
"Oh!" she said with a full-drawn sigh, and Dexter saw the sparkle of tears in her eyes as her lashes slowly closed. "That's all I wanted," she breathed.
"Alison!" he cried. He swayed towards her, impelled by an overwhelming desire to touch her, to feel her nearness, to draw her into the comforting circle of his arm. "Alison!"
The girl lifted her head to face him, seeing the look he gave her, and she did not move away. "Yes," she said, so low he barely heard.
He stood for an instant in wavering silence, and then all at once he caught himself with a startled movement. The muscles of his body stiffened, and the inflexible line of his jaw reasserted itself. "There's nothing we can do about it," he said.