"Oh, Maggy, you child!" he said tenderly.
Her eyes brimmed over. She took his hand and kissed it.
"Thank you so much," she said. "But it's—it's not in the picture. What sort of a wife should I make? No, it wouldn't do.... And there are other reasons."
"Ada Lambert?" he asked gently. "Is that one of them? I loved her as a young man loves the first good woman who comes into his life. I don't think I do her any disloyalty."
"No, it's not that. What difference could that make? If I could I would make you happy because you lost her. It's me. I don't come from a good man. I wouldn't let any one say that except myself. I loathe what he's done to me and the way he's treated me. But I've loved him. There's something I gave him I can never get back. It's strange: though I never want to hear of him or see him again, I don't want anything bad to happen to him. I should be sorry."
"I understand," nodded Chalfont. "But it need not stand between you and me, Maggy. We should start fair."
The ghost of a smile flickered on her lips.
"Think of the racket there would be in the papers about us! You would be ashamed. And I'm not worth it, really. 'Another peer weds actress. Romance of the stage. The third this season. Below we append other instances of brilliant marriages of stage beauties.' Think of it!"
"I fancy we could keep it out of the papers," he said. "We would be married in the country—in church."
"In church!" Her eyes grew misty. "You would—go to church with me? Oh, my dear, that would be more of my dream coming true, like the cedar trees and the cows!"