“You’re going?”
He faced her furiously. It seemed to him that he was gazing into a furnace. “If I stay, you’ll have me kissing you.”
She scarcely knew whether she loved or hated him, yet she held out her arms to him languorously. For a moment he hesitated. Then he hurried past her. As his hand was on the door, he heard a thud. She had fallen to her knees beside the couch in the sunlight Her face was buried in her hands.
Slowly he came back. Stooping over her, he brushed his lips against her hair.
She lifted her sad eyes. “I tried to be fair to you; I warned you. You should have stuck to your dream of me. You were never in love with the reality.”
“I was.” He denied her vehemently.
She smiled wearily. “The past tense! Will you ever be kind to me again, I wonder? I—I never had a father, Teddy.”
The old excuse—the truest of all her excuses! It struck the chord of memory. He picked her up gently, holding her so closely that he could feel the shuddering of her breath.
“In spite of everything,” she whispered, “would you still marry me?”
He faltered. “Yes, I’d still marry you. But, Desire, we’ve forgotten: you haven’t told me truly why you sent for me.”