“Don’t throw me over, Cherry—not altogether. Give me enough to live on, and keep good—for her sake—there, I’ll say it—if she’s shown you what a woman ought to be.”
He sat on the floor beside her, and took her in his arms, pressing her wet cheek against his own.
“You shall understand,” he said, much moved. “This lady’s for my friend—we’ll bring him round to see it by-and-by, we two. But the lesson of her whiteness is for all. Am I Cartouche to own it? I only know she’s taught me to respect something I never respected before. To pay to keep you good, my darling? With a fortune, if I had it. That’s it. Shall we be good together, sweetest—never, never, never sin again? You’ve loved me one way: will you love me better this—own the wrong and renounce it? show—”
“Not her. I’ve been wicked. I’ll pray to God to forgive me. He’s a man.”
His face twinkled.
“Hush!” he said. “Our act of grace shall be to mend this tragedy with love. That’s why I brought him here. You shall teach him the way. Don’t you see, Molly—can’t you see all that that means?”
She clung to him with a burst of tears.
“O, I’ll be good, Cherry! And perhaps—perhaps, some day, you’ll want to learn from me.”
He heard a sound overhead, and, rising, lifted her to her feet.
“Dry your eyes,” he whispered; “he’s coming. He mustn’t find a wet-blanketing hostess.”