"The way of the penitent," he declared.
"'Tis not so hard as the transgressor's," she warned, galloping on.
"Why did you stop her?" Nancy asked, looking at him in wonder. "She needn't have seen you heah?"
"I wanted her to see—how pretty you are," he answered; but during that pause, slight as it was, she realized he had stubbornly, defiantly, baffled his pride.
"Didn't you say something about bein' honest?" she naïvely asked.
His face grew sober. "I wanted her to see us; I want her to know I think it's a compliment if you talk to me by the roadside. That's all. No, it isn't all," he went on. "I want you to decide something, and now it'll be easier for you to decide, because they did see us. I'm in earnest; I don't want any prudish weights on this conversation. If they think there's something wrong, so much the better. But the very first thing I want to say to you is, that I've been a pup. I want to be a man with you—as much of a man as you were a noble girl by coming over to Arden the other night!" She was staring at him in utter amazement. "You saw through me that night," he was talking more hurriedly. "You know what a scoundrel I was! There's no use mincing words, no use holding up the mask any more. If it hurts you, remember I'm not sparing myself;—I couldn't spare myself, for you've made me feel too unutterably low. But I do want to be honest with you!"
"Brent," she gave a curious little laugh, "what's the matter with you tonight?"
"There's nothing the matter—yes, there is, too! There's everything the matter. I'm just a curl of smoke from hell when I drink too much. Any draft of desire takes me with it—sucks me up the black flues of intrigue and adventure. I'm making no excuses, for I like it. It's fascinatingly kaleidoscopic. It's Life; reflected and re-reflected in Life's thousand mirrors, with the beauties magnified and the dull places rubbed out. No apology for myself—but I'm accountable to you when you're drawn into it!"
He was talking blindly, impulsively ahead, carried on a wave of self denunciation, and not considering that she might be wholly perplexed by the metaphors which sprang so rapidly from his tongue.
She merely stood looking up at him; understanding only that he was moved by a tremendous force, and that somehow she—as he had just said—was drawn into it.