"I mean," she said, and though it still trembled beyond her control, her voice gathered confidence with the words, "that by taking me—by keeping me—you are taking—keeping—what is not your own."
"Love gives me the right," he asserted, swiftly—"your love—and mine."
But the clearer vision had come to her. She shook her head against his shoulder. "No—no! That is wrong. That is not—the greater love."
"What do you mean by—the greater love?" He was holding her still closely, but no longer with that fierce possession.
She answered him with a steadiness that surprised herself: "I mean the only love that is worth having—the love that lasts."
He caught up the words passionately. "And hasn't my love lasted? Have I ever thought of any other woman since the day I met you? Haven't I been fighting against odds ever since to be able to come to you an honest man—and worthy of your love?"
"Oh, I know—I know!" she said, and there was a sound of heartbreak in her voice. "But—the odds have been too heavy. I thought you had forgotten—long ago."
"Forgotten!" he said.
"Yes." With a sob she answered him. "Men do forget—nearly all of them. Fletcher Hill didn't. He kept on waiting, and—and—they said it wasn't fair—to spoil a man's life for a dream—that could never come true. So—I gave in at last. I am—promised to him."
"Against your will?" His arms tightened upon her again. "Tell me, little new chum! Was it against your will?"