Alice smiled oddly. "We have to bear them, you know, for the love of man." She sat down on the bench beside him. "Tell me, how have you suffered to-day?"
"Do you want to know?"
"Of course, I want to know. Don't you always want to know how I have suffered? Though I used to think," she added, as if moved by unpleasant recollections, "that nobody cares when a woman suffers."
"The man that loves her cares. It is one of love's attributes. It makes a woman's sorrow and pain his, just as her joy and happiness are his. Pleasure and pain are twins, anyway, and you cannot separate them. Alice!" He looked suddenly at her. "You love me, don't you?"
Her face crimsoned, for she realized he was bent on making her answer.
"Let us talk about something else, Robert."
He repeated his question.
"Don't make me put it into words yet, Robert," she said at last. "You have so long known the answer--and know that I still speak as his wife. Do I love you?" She covered her face with her hands.
"Alice!" His appeal drew her eyes back to his. They looked speechless at each other. The moment was too much. Instinctively she sprang in fear to her feet, but only to find herself caught within his arm and to feel his burning lips on her lips. She fought his embrace in half-delirious reproach. Then her eyes submitted to his pleading and their lips met with her soft, plunging pulse beating swiftly upon his heart.
It was only for an instant. She pushed him away. "I have answered you. You must spare me now or I shall sink with shame."