“I’ve been fighting it since I met you—because—”
“Because I am a thief,” she finished unconcernedly. “Do you remember that night when we were here alone—you started to tell me you loved me, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” he admitted slowly.
“Then you remembered what I was, and your love wasn’t big enough to let you finish.”
“That wasn’t the reason I hesitated,” he said quickly, “then or—other times. The reason I didn’t yield to my desire was because I knew it wouldn’t be fair to Jo. Remember, I thought until Marta came that you were his.”
She looked her discomfiture.
“I forgot that,” she said in a low sympathetic tone.
“No;” he resumed meditatively. “You don’t know what a man’s love is.”
“A man’s love,” she replied, a slight catch in her voice, “is infinitesimal compared to a woman’s.”
“Let me show you, Pen. You shall love me! We’ll go far away from here—”