"We love each other. That isn't a crime," he declared.
"For you, it isn't. But it is for me. Because—it'll hurt Marylyn. Oh, you don't understand—I can't take her happiness. I can't! I can't!"
"It's not your fault that I love you, Dallas."
"What happens next is."
He shook his head—smiling.
She raised her chin, as if striving to master herself. "I knew all day that I'd come," she said steadily. "I'd 'a' come if I—died for it!"
"Ah, my dearest!" He put his hands upon her shoulders, drawing her near again.
She stepped back determinedly. "Let me tell you," she begged. "Please, I knew I'd come. So I made up my mind I'd do what was white—ask you to visit Marylyn, and talk to her. If you would, if you only would, why, at last, you couldn't help liking her!"
Again he smiled at her, shaking his head. "I love you, not Marylyn."
"You're a good man," she said. "You wouldn't like to see me do anything that wasn't right square. You wouldn't—think much of me if I did. I'll do wrong if—if I take you from her."