"Mind? I—the situation is—horrible," he began, after a pause. "God knows I love my son, and I should hate you if you hurt him——"
"I know that," she interrupted quickly, and he looked up.
"Perhaps that is why——"
"Why? No. Ah, Victor, you know that I love you. You must know that. And yet I have promised to marry him. What are we to do?"
Through the open windows came the sounds of laughter and loud talk, and someone was playing snatches of a waltz on a violin.
Brigit, feeling that things outside her own control had hastened an inevitable crisis, stood waiting with the immobility of one consciously in the hands of Fate.
At last Joyselle came to her and took her in his arms. "Tell me that you love me," he whispered, "and then—I can bear anything."
His unexpected resignation came, as so often is the case, rather as a shock to her. It was true that she had of late, during the reign of peace that had followed the last quarrel, been unusually happy, and that the thought of marrying Théo had become more bearable than she would have believed possible; the future had taken on an aspect of happy family life with Joyselle and Félicité, in which Théo's part had been pleasantly subordinate; more or less, although her mind had not formulated it, that of a brother.
Yet now Joyselle's resigned attitude did not please her.
"Then—you don't mind my marrying—another man?" she retorted quickly, instinctively using words that would hurt him.