At last, he said, slowly, “I suppose you know I love you,” and his voice, though intense, was as bare of inflection or emphasis as the room was of decoration. It seemed as if one must speak coldly and simply in that empty, hollow place. The very bareness of the floor and walls, made the baring of the soul inevitable and consequent.
And as she looked at Kane, Avice did know it. And the radiance of the knowledge lighted the darkness, dispelled the gloom and filled the place with a thousand pictures of life and joy.
With sparkling eyes, she went nearer to him, both hands outstretched. The three words were enough. No protestations or explanations were necessary in that moment of soul-sight.
But Kane gave no answering gesture.
“Don’t,” he said; “it means nothing. I only wanted you to know it. That is all.”
“Why is that all?” and Avice looked at him blankly.
Kane gave a short, sharp laugh. “First, because I am already the same as a condemned man; second, because if I weren’t, I couldn’t ask you to marry me and thereby lose your whole fortune.”
“I don’t care about the fortune,” said Avice, still speaking with this strange new directness that marked them both; “but I have promised Leslie Hoyt that if he frees you, I will marry him.”
“Avice! What a bargain! Do you suppose I would accept freedom at such a price? Do you love him?”
“No; I love you. I have told him so. But he will not get you off unless I will marry him, so I have promised.”