“But think what I have done to you!” she sobbed. “I never realized that there was this danger. And you—you have your own friends, your interests. Oh, I——”
“My interests are all here—with you,” he answered. “It is I who am to blame. I should have known what Alcatrante would do.”
“You couldn’t know. There was no way——”
“I sent you up here to wait for me. Then, when he and I came in, I turned my back on him, like a blind fool.”
“No, no,” she protested.
“After all,” he said, “it was, perhaps, something that neither you nor I could foresee. No one is to blame. Isn’t that the best view to take of it?”
Her cheek moved against his as she inclined her head.
“It may be selfish in me,” he went on, “but I can’t feel unhappy—now.”
Her sobs had ceased, and she buried her face in his shoulder.
“I love you, Girl,” he said, brokenly. “I don’t expect you to care so much for me—yet. But I must tell you what I feel. There isn’t—there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you, Girl—and be happy doing it.”