“Honor!”
“Honor? Whose honor? yours?”
“No. Your own. What is mine? What is any woman’s when she loves? And I do love. Do you understand? From the moment I saw you I loved you? I fought against it. I may not love any man—now; least of all, you. I am dangerous to you—dangerous! That is why I lied to you. That is why I told you that I was going to stop in Hamburg instead of coming to Berlin. It was by a mere chance that you saw me on the street. But I love you. I have never loved any man before nor will again. No other man has ever touched my lips. Do you believe me? No—don’t answer. I know that you do. I love you, and I am careful of your honor—more careful that I would be of my own. Therefore, I will not marry you—soon.”
Very straight she stood against the background of palms. Topham, slow of thought as he was, felt vaguely that she had stood thus rigid through life that bent around her. But he was determined, too. Stubbornness rose within him.
But before he could speak, she flung up her hand. “No! Don’t say it!” she begged. “Don’t compel me to yield. You could do it. No other man ever bent me; but you—you could break me. But it is best not to do it. Believe me, you will be sorry if—
“Look you, senor! For years I have lived for but one thing, and that thing is close to my hand. Yet I would give it up for you and count it gain to do so if others were not involved—others who rely on me—others to whom I have passed my word. And yet, I will give it up—if you ask me. What is a woman’s word, after all? Shall I give it up?”
Topham shook his head. “Not if you have passed your word. My wife’s word is mine!” he answered, with splendid egotism.
The countess smiled—but tenderly. Perhaps she noticed the egotism and was proud of it.
“Then,” she said. “I can not marry you soon. It will take a full year to redeem my word; and until that is done I can not marry you. Perhaps”—her voice broke—“perhaps you will not want to marry me then. But God rules and I can not think he has brought you to me merely to take you away again.”
She paused and clasped her hands above her heart. “You must not even see me during that year,” she went on, painfully. “No! Believe me! I know best. It must be! Go to your ship and come back in a year—if you will. I, too, am going away soon. When the year is up, or sooner, if it be possible, I will let you know where I am. Then, if you care to come to me—”