"I do care," he blurted out. "I—I only wish I had known you as well as
I do now—before you married—that's all."
"Is there no way to correct the mistake?" she asked softly. "Must marriage end all—all happiness?"
Langhorne said nothing, but I could almost hear his breathing over the vocaphone, which picked up and magnified even whispers.
"Mary," he said in a deep, passionate voice, "I—I will defend you—from this Murtha thing—if it ever gets out. I know it is always on your mind—that you couldn't keep away from that trial for fear that Carton, or Murtha, or SOMEBODY might say something by chance or drop some hint about it. Trust me."
"Then we can be—friends?"
"Lovers!" he cried fiercely.
There was a half-smothered exclamation over the faithful little vocaphone, a little flurried rustle of silk and a long, passionate sigh.
"Hartley," she whispered.
"What is it, Mary?" he asked tensely.
"We must be careful. Carton MUST be defeated. He must not have the power—to use that—record."