Here was freedom to go her own way, unrebuked by her own conscience or the conscience of the man she loved.
Théo had turned away and stood with folded arms, awaiting her answer.
And she let her chance go by, for she could not bear to say the words that should hurt him, and in the quiet night under the shadow of the old house, it seemed to her that, after all, her happiness lay in this boy's hands. Not the wild rapture she had once or twice felt with Joyselle, but the kind of happiness that builds homes, and—she wanted a home.
Inexplicably tangled with her feelings for Théo, too, was that anything binding her to him bound her to his father. They were more than father and son, these two, they belonged together.
"I—do care for you," she said quietly. "I am not in love with you, but I will marry you."
As he turned and held out his arms to her, Joyselle appeared at the end of the lawn. Brigit did not see him, and going slowly to her lover allowed him to embrace her.
"Ma Brigitte, mon ange—I—how can I thank you. Ah, what I have felt these last five months! I have thought—oh, many things, of late."
His voice shook and was good to hear in its sincere emotion. For the moment in her new-born wish to be good to him she felt that she had done the wise thing, and was happy. He was good, and she would marry him and—life would go on for ever, as it had been the last few weeks.
Joyselle, standing quite still in the shadow, watched them for a moment. Then he turned and went back into the house.