“I understand,” he returned.
The light in the violet eyes deepened and sparkled. So a cruel Roman lady might have regarded a gladiator in the arena, answering his appeal with “Thumbs down.” Bob lifted his hand to his brow. The girl’s proud lips—lips to dream of—were curved as in cruel disdain. Then Bob forgot himself again.
“I won’t have you look at me like that,” he said masterfully. “I’m not a criminal. Confound it, it’s preposterous. I didn’t steal your ring and I want you to know it, too. I never stole a thing in my life.” They were standing somewhat apart, where they couldn’t be overheard. He spoke in a low tone but with force, gazing boldly and unafraid now into the violet eyes.
“I won’t let you think that of me,” he said, stepping nearer. “Steal from you?” he scoffed. “Do you know the only thing I’d like to steal from you?” His eyes challenged hers; the violet eyes didn’t shrink. “Yourself! I’d like to steal you, but hang your rings!” He didn’t say “hang”; he used the other word. He forgot himself completely.
A garden of wild roses blossomed on the girl’s fair cheek, but she held herself with rare composure. “I wonder, Mr. Bennett,” she observed quietly, “how I should answer such mad irresponsible talk?”
“It’s the truth. And if I were a thief—which I’m not—I wouldn’t steal your rings. Even a thief wouldn’t steal the rings of the girl he loves.”
More roses! Outraged flushing, no doubt! Yet still the girl managed to maintain her composure. “You dare go very far, do you not, Mr. Bennett?”
“Yes; and I’ll go further. I love every hair of your head. Even when you’re cruel,” he hurried on recklessly, “and heaven knows you can be cruel enough, I love you. I love your lips when they say the unkindest and most outrageous things to me. I love your eyes when they look scorn. I ought not to love you, but I do. Why, I loved you the first time I saw you. And do you think if I were all those things you think me, I’d dare stand up here and tell you that? I didn’t mean to tell you ever that I loved you. But that’s my answer when you imply I’m a rank criminal. A man’s got to have a clear conscience to love you as I do. Such love can only go with a clear conscience. Why, you’re so wonderful and beautiful to me I couldn’t—” Bob paused. “Don’t you see the point?” he appealed to her. “A man couldn’t have you in his heart and not have the right to hold up his head among his fellow men.”
Miss Gerald did not at once answer; she had not moved. The sweeping dark lashes were lowered; she was looking down. “You plead your cause very ingeniously, Mr. Bennett,” she observed at length, her lashes suddenly uplifting. The lights were still there in the violet eyes; they seemed yet mocking him. “You invoke the sacred name of love as a proof of your innocence. The argument is unique if not logical,” she went on with pitiless accents and the red lips that uttered the “sacred name of love” smiled. “I have been rather interested, however, in following your somewhat fantastic defense of yourself. That it has incidentally involved me is also mildly interesting. Do you expect me to feel flattered?” The red lips still smiled. Bob was quite near but she didn’t move away. She seemed quite unafraid of him.
“You needn’t feel ashamed,” said Bob sturdily. And his eyes flashed. They seemed to say no woman ought to be ashamed of an honest man’s love. “I may be mad over you,” he went on, “but I’m not ashamed of it. There isn’t a thought I have of you that doesn’t make me want to be a better man, and a stronger and more useful one, too,” he added, squaring his shoulders.