She did not shrink from his hold, though it was almost violent. Her eyes were shining like stars.
"That," she said, with quaint assurance, "is just another of your lies."
His hand relaxed slowly till her wrist was free.
"Do you know," he said, still with that iron self-suppression, "that only a few weeks ago I committed forgery?"
"Yes," said Cynthia. "And I know why you did it, too. It wasn't exactly clever, but it was just dear of you all the same."
The swindler's face quivered suddenly, uncontrollably. He tried to laugh—the old harsh laugh—but the sound he uttered was akin to something very different. He leaned forward sharply, and covered his face with his hands.
And in that moment Cynthia knew that the walls of the citadel had fallen at last, so that it lay open for her to enter in.
She knelt up quickly. Her arm slipped round his neck. She drew his head with soft insistence to her breast.
"My own boy, it's over; forget it all. It wasn't meant to handicap you always. We'll have another deal now, please God, and start afresh as partners."
There followed a pause—a silence that had in it something sacred. Then West raised himself, and took her face between his hands. For a moment he looked deep into her eyes, his own alight with a vital fire.