“It's true,” he cried hotly. “Can you look at me and say it ain't the truth?”
“You've spoiled our friendship, Kent!” she accused, while she evaded his question. “It meant so much to me—just your dear, good friendship.”
“My love could mean a whole lot more,” he declared sturdily.
“But you mustn't say those things—you mustn't feel that way, Kent!”
“Oh!” He laughed grimly. “Mustn't I? How are you going to stop me?” He stared hard at her, his face growing slowly rigid. “There's just one way to stop me from saying such wicked things,” he told her. “You can tell me you don't care anything about me, and never could, not even if that down-east conscience of yours didn't butt into the game. You can tell me that, and swear it's the truth, and I'll leave the country. I'll go so far you'll newer see me again, so I'll never bother you any more. I can't promise I'll stop loving you—but for my own sake I'll sure try hard enough.” He set his teeth hard together and stood quiet, watching her.
Val tied to answer him. Evidently she could not manage her voice, for he saw her begin softly beating her lips with her fist, fighting to get back her self-control. Once or twice he had seen her do that, when, womanlike, the tears would come in spite of her.
“I don't want you to go a-away,” she articulated at last, with a hint of stubbornness.
“Well, what do you want? I can't stay, unless—” He did not attempt to finish the sentence. He knew there was no need; she understood well enough the alternative.
For long minutes she did not speak, because she could not. Like many women, she fought desperately against the tears which seemed a badge of her femininity. She sat down in a chair, dropped her face upon her folded arms, and bit her lips until they were sore. Kent took a step toward her, reconsidered, and went over to the window, where he stood staring moodily out until she began speaking. Even then, he did not turn immediately toward her.
“You needn't go, Kent,” she said with some semblance of calm. “Because I'm going. I didn't tell you—but I'm going home. I'm going to get free, by the same law that tied me to him. You are right—I have a 'down-east' conscience. I think I was born with it. It demands that I get my freedom honestly; I can't steal it—pal. I couldn't be happy if I did that, no matter how hard I might try—or you.”