"Oh, I love things so," she laughed. "I'm as foolish as a child about things that are new."
With another glance at the shifting tide, she added seriously: "And every silly Oriental of them all is free to go where he pleases—to do what he pleases. I would give everything for freedom, and they have it—and don't value it!"
Then she saw the hard strain of his face. Slowly her own eyes lost the glow of pleasurable interest and saddened with the realization of being barred back from life.
The man bent forward. His fingers tightened on the edge of the table with a clutch which drove the blood back under his nails. It was a hard fight to retain his self-control. His question broke from him in a low, almost savage voice.
"Cara!" he demanded. "Cara, is there any price too high to pay for happiness?"
"What do you mean?" The intensity of his eyes held hers, and for a moment she feared for his reason. Her own question was low and steadying, but he answered in an unnatural voice.
"I hardly know—perhaps I have less right to speak now than ever—perhaps more. I don't know, I only know that I love you—and that the world seems reeling."
Something caught in his throat.
"I'm a cur to talk of it now. I want to think of—of—something else. I ought to think only what a splendid sort he was—but I can realize only one thing—I love you."
"Only one thing," she repeated softly. Then as she looked again into the feverishly bright eyes under his scowl, the meaning which lay back of his words broke suddenly upon her.