"His happiness, his faith in women, for my idle amusement."
"One of a thousand," he muttered. "You were never so considerate of the rest."
"I'm not altogether without heart."
"You amaze me."
"It's you who are heartless. You could save us both."
He looked at her then for the first time since they had come in. "Save us both?" he queried. "From what, pray?"
"From wretchedness. I've never been loved as I want to be. And you—you won't let me—"
"Good God!" he caught her up suddenly. "I didn't come here for that! Keep your tongue off me, Nina, as well as your hands, or—I'll cut it!"
She stretched herself farther across the pillows. "Make everything right," she pleaded earnestly, ignoring his rebuke. "Marry me over again—acknowledge me—be my husband in fact—as you've always been legally—just for a year."
Her voice was low, but thrilling in its eagerness of appeal. And in the dining-room, with ear close to the door, guarding her against a sudden outbreak from her unbalanced companion, Andrews heard all—every uttered word—and understood.