He did not reply in words. The answer lay on the floor beside his foot, where he had dropped the note to Jason Bolt which he had brought with him in his hurried dash to her side. He picked it up and gave it to her.
When she had read it, she let it drop in her lap. There was no mockery in her expression at that moment, though she could not forego a whimsical little taunt.
"That isn't practicing what you preach, Mr. Creighton!"
"I—I could not find the strength," he muttered hoarsely.
She made no verbal response to that, but her eyes blessed him. After a moment she forced one uncertain question from trembling lips.
"Will you tell me wh-why?"
"Yes. I've a confession to make, too, Miss Ocky." He nerved himself to this ordeal. "I—I searched your room last evening while you were at the Bolts. Looking for proof against Janet. Will you forgive me?" He waited for her quick nod. "I found nothing, but I did see your diary on that desk—and glanced at it."
"Ah!" said Miss Ocky, her cheeks stained a deep crimson.
"I found something there that interested me—made me—happy! A line wishing we had met twenty years ago. Will you tell me what you meant by that? I'm afraid to trust my own interpretation." He paused, but she remained silent. "Anyway, I echo the wish! But twenty years is not a lifetime. If you tell me what I want to hear, we can still have many years—to forget Simon and think only of our own happiness—"
"Oh, stop! Stop!" She flung out a hand imploringly and drew back from him, her face ashen. "Oh, what a fool I've been—what a wicked little fool! I saw this coming—I never should have let it happen—oh, I should have hit you over the head—k-killed you, too!—anything but let this go on! But I d-didn't have the s-trength either! I wanted my bit of happiness—I wanted to be cared for like—like that by some one—by—by you above all! And now—and now—!" She broke off on a sob.