“You mean—” he began, and paused. “You think I’m ashamed to be seen talking to you?”
“Let me go!” she said vehemently. “I won’t listen!”
But her defiance was little more than bravado. Her knees felt weak. She was frightened by the inexplicable thing she had done.
“That was a beastly, unjust thing to think,” he went on. “It was only on your account. I thought you wouldn’t want any one to know—”
“Know? Know what?” she interrupted, with an attempt at her former scornfulness; but in her heart she was dismayed and terribly uneasy.
“All right!” he said. “You think I’m ashamed. By Heaven, you’ll see! I’m proud of it! It’s the finest thing I ever did in my life—to love you!”
“Oh, stop!” she whispered.
“No! I’d like every one in the world to know it. I’m proud of it! I told you I was at your feet, and I meant it. I’ll—”
“Oh, please!” she said.
He stopped, looking at her as if stricken dumb by some unbearable revelation. All that was hard and proud had vanished from her face, leaving a tragic and exquisite loveliness. She stood there, in her distress, like a lost princess, bewildered and solitary, but unassailable in her mystic innocence.