"I wish I'd never seen you," she said from the far end of it.
"I wish I'd never seen—Tom Loring."
"Ah, that's the only thing!" she cried. "I may live or I may die, or I may—do anything you like; but I mustn't have another friend! I mustn't give a thought to what anybody else thinks of me!"
"You mustn't balance me against Tom Loring," he answered between his teeth, all signs of his merriment gone now.
For a moment—not long, but seeming very long—there was silence in the room; and, while the brief stillness reigned, she fought a last battle against him, calling loyalty and friendship to her aid, praying their alliance against the overbearing demand he made on her—against his roughness, his blindness to all she suffered for him. But the strife was short. Lifting her hands above her head, and bringing them down through the air as with a blow, she cried,
"My God, I balance nothing against you!"
Her reward—her only reward—seemed on the instant to be hers. Willie Ruston was transformed; his sullenness was gone; his eyes were alight with triumph; the smile she loved was on his lips, and he had forgotten those troubled, useless, mazy musings on the jetty. He took a quick step towards her, holding out both his hands. She clasped them.
"Nothing?" he asked in a low tone. "Nothing, Maggie?"
She bowed her head for answer; it was the attitude of surrender, of helplessness, and of trust, and it appealed to the softer feeling in him which her resistance had smothered. He was strongly moved, and his face was pale as he drew her to him and kissed her lips; but all he said was,
"Then the deuce take Tom Loring!"