"Why, Osmond?"
"I wanted it to be by day, with no glamour round us, to make you judge, accept, reject things as they are. But now I need the night to help me." She was a picture of breathing happiness. He forgot his part. "Rose," he cried, "it's love between us!"
"It's love," she answered.
"I came to tell you the past is past. It's not to be remembered. Not a doubt! not a fear! not even a fear for you. You're not to love a coward. I won't have that. Will you take me, make what you can of me?"
The light on their faces spoke without their will.
"I'm not going to mark it down," he said. "I'm not going to say it isn't worthy of you. It's going to be, the sort the big lovers died for. I have looked the thing in the face. I adore it. I'm going where it leads me."
She calmed as he grew fervid.
"Sit down, Osmond," she said. "We must talk. There aren't many days to talk in."
But as he sat, he kept her hand.
"Shall I tell you why I've been staying away from you?" he asked.