I placed myself between her and it.
"Miss Jones," I said, "this is rather a supreme moment for me, more supreme than you will ever understand. I forgot you for my picture; I will not forget my picture for you." The icy fire of her eyes followed me while I went to the table and took up a sharp, long dagger which lay beside the little packet of money. I returned to the picture and, giving it one long look, I ripped the canvas from top to bottom. Miss Jones made neither sound nor sign. With dogged despair I pierced the smiling face, I hacked and rent the exquisite thing. The rose-coloured tatters fell forward; in five minutes "Manon Lescaut" was dead, utterly annihilated, and Miss Jones surveyed the place where she had been. I turned to her, and I have no doubt that my face expressed my exultant misery.
"And now!" I exclaimed.
"Now," said Miss Jones, looking solemnly at me, "you have done right, you have done nobly, and you will be the happier for it."
"Shall I?" I said, approaching her. "Shall I?"
"Yes. I can confidently say it. That bad thing would have poisoned your life as it would have poisoned mine." I ignored the misstatement.
"Miss Jones," I said, "for your sake I have destroyed the best thing in my life; may I hope for a better? I love you."
Her pale and beautiful face looked very little less calm, but certainly a little dismayed, certainly a little sorry.
"The best thing has been this act of sacrifice," she said; "don't spoil that by any weak regret. You have gained my admiration and my respect; but for better things, if better there are, I accepted Mr. Carrington last night."