Tom nodded gently.
“I remember,” he said. “I never forgot.”
He put the big hand on the boy’s knee this time. “I loved her too,” he said, “and I had nothing else.”
“Then you know—you know!” cried Rupert. “You remember what it was to sit quite near her and see her look at you in that innocent way—how you longed to cry out and take her in your arms.”
Tom stirred in his seat. Time rolled back twenty-five years.
“Oh, my God, yes—I remember!” he answered.
“It was like that to-night,” the young lover went on. “And I could not stop myself. I told her I loved her—and she said she wanted me to love her—and we kissed each other.”
Big Tom got up and stood before the open window. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets and he stared out at the beauty of the night.
“Good Lord!” he said. “That’s what ought to come to every man that lives—but it doesn’t.”
Rupert poured forth his confession, restrained no more.