"Kiss me first, not like that—properly." He caught Stara to him, and kissed her in a way that made her cheeks flame. She shrank back frightened and ashamed.
"Does that look as though I regretted? Listen. I've broken with her, as I said I would. Please God, I'll never see her again, blast her!"
"Oh, Hector, hush! Why?"
"Because she failed to ... No, that's not the reason, because she won't divorce me. That settles us, you see, no marriage for you and me."
"I never expected it, Hector. I was ready for it. But ... there's something more. What is it?"
"More, what more do you want, isn't that enough?"
"Hector, there is; there's something which has ... hurt you. It's not the parting from her. I can see that. Dearest, I must—I will know."
"There's nothing, I tell you, me hurt, by the death of a blind brat? Oh, God, curse me for a babbling fool!"
"Good—good God!"
Hector turned savagely on her. "Why do you say that? What right have you to assume ... Take your arms away from me. Oh, you must hear, must you, satisfy your damned curiosity, I suppose? All right, you shall. I told you on the ship I had no children. I lied; there was one, I'd never seen her when I spoke. She was blind and sickly, but—God knows why—she ... liked me, used to crawl over me, and call me 'daddy,' me, Stara, 'daddy.' Laugh, curse you, laugh, you won't? Look here, then," he dragged from his pocket the battered figure of James, and held it from him, wildly laughing, "here's what I play with at nights alone, croon and chuckle over it like the madman I am. Damn you, give it back—give it back, I say," for Stara had snatched James from his hand and was holding him against her breast, her tears raining on the plush. Hector's hand fell to his side and he turned sharply away, then once more went on: