"How good you have been to me!" she murmured. "I didn't deserve such sacrifice."
"It wasn't a sacrifice. It was a delight. Besides, it was the least I could do to make good for being a cad when you were in trouble."
Even in the shadow he could see that she didn't understand. Her eyes showed him that.
"I lost my head," he confessed. "I wasn't only weak; I was half wild. It was I that told Dinghal all you'd ever said to me. It was I, really, who started the horrid stories that got about. I feel I can never do enough to wipe that out."
To his surprise she showed no resentment. "I dare say that all you said wasn't half the truth. I did kill poor Darling, you know."
His brow contracted to a frown.
"You didn't," he protested. "You couldn't—you couldn't have meant to. If you had any part in it, it was accidental."
She didn't insist. All she said was: "I don't see why you should think so well of me, Gerald. I was perfectly horrid to you."
"Were you?" he asked, dreaming. "You were very good to me, too. I can't forget that. I don't want to. It's that and that only I care to remember."
"Would you think it good of me if I should let you come every day to see me?" she asked suddenly, with fresh impulse. "It's a privilege I've allowed no one."