He straightened and turned toward her sternly.
"You mustn't talk like that," he said. "You're lying. I know your heart. It's clean as snow."
"Because you haven't soiled it?" She clasped her hands over her knees and leaned toward him with wicked coquetry. "Really, Cort, you're a sweet boy—but you lack imagination. You know you're not the only man in the world. A woman in my position has much to gain—little to lose. I'm a derelict, a ship without a captain——"
He interrupted her by taking her in his arms and putting his fingers over her lips. "Stop!" he whispered, "I'll not listen to you."
"I mean it. I've learned something in your world. I thought life was a sacrament. I find it's only a game." She struggled away from him and went to the fireplace, but he rose and stood beside her.
"You're lying, Camilla," he repeated, "lying to me. Oh, I know—I've been a fool—a vicious—a selfish fool. I've let them talk because I couldn't bear to be without you—because I thought that some day you'd learn what a love like mine meant. And I wanted you—wanted you——"
"Don't you want me still, Cort?" she asked archly.
He put his elbows on the mantel and gazed into the flames, but would not reply, and the smile faded from her lips before the dignity of his silence.
"I've thought it all out, Camilla. I'm going away on business for my father, and I don't expect to come back. I thought I could go without seeing you again—just send you a note to say good-by. It was easier for me that way. I thought I had won out until I saw you to-day—but now it's harder than ever."
He looked up as he thought she might misconstrue his meaning. "Oh, I'm not afraid to leave on your account. Our set may make you a little careless, a little cynical, but you've got too much pride to lose your grip—and you'll never be anything else but what you are." He gazed into the fire again and went on in the same impersonal tone as if he had forgotten her existence. "I'll always love you, Camilla.... I love you more now than I ever did—only it's different somehow.... It used to be a madness—an obsession.... Your lips, your eyes, your soft fingers, the warm elusive tints of your skin—the petals of the bud—I would have taken them because of their beauty, crushed out, if I could, the soul that lived inside, as one crushes a shrub to make its sweetness sweeter." He sighed deeply and went on: "I told you I loved you then—back there in Mesa City—but I lied to you, Camilla. It wasn't love. Love is calmer, deeper, almost judicial, more mental than physical even.... I'm going away from you because I love you more than I love myself."