“Darling—don’t say such things! I’ve nothing to forgive—”
“You have, Jack! Indeed, you have—oh! why can’t we be alone for ten minutes—I’d explain it all—what I thought—”
“But there’s nothing to explain, if you love me still—at least, not for you.”
“Yes, there is. There’s ever so much. Jack, why did you tell me? You frightened me so—you don’t know! And it seemed as though it were the end of everything, and of me, myself, when you said you couldn’t be sure of keeping a promise for my sake. You didn’t mean what you said—at least, not as I thought you meant it—you didn’t mean that you wouldn’t try—and of course you would succeed in the end.”
“I think I should succeed very soon, with you to help me, Katharine. But that’s not what a man—who is a man—accepts from a woman.”
“Her help—not her help, Jack? How can you say so!”
“Yes, I mean it. Suppose that I should fail, what sort of life should you lead—tied to a man who drinks? Don’t start, dear—it’s the truth. We shall never talk about it again, after this, perhaps, and I may just as well say what I think. I must say it, if I’m ever to respect myself again.”
Katharine looked at him, realized again what his courage had been in making the confession, and she loved him more than ever.
“Jack—” she began, and hesitated. “Since we are talking of it, and must talk of it—can’t you tell me what makes you do it—I mean—you know! What is it that attracts you? It must be something very strong—isn’t it? What is it?”
“I wish I knew!” answered Ralston, half savagely. “It began—oh, at college, you know. I was vain of being able to stand more than the other fellows and of going home as steady as though I’d had nothing.”