“Jane!” Gallatin’s voice broke in. “Don’t go. Give me a chance—just half an hour—ten minutes. I won’t take more than that—and then——”
“I’m sorry, but——”
“You wouldn’t see me or reply to my letters, and so I had to choose some other way. Give me a moment,” he pleaded. “You can’t refuse me that.”
“I don’t see—how anything that you say can make the slightest difference—in anything, Mr. Gallatin,” she said haltingly. “We both seem to have been mistaken. It’s very much better to avoid a—a discussion which is sure to—to be painful to us both.”
“What do you know of pain,” he whispered, “if you can’t know the pain of absence? Nothing that you can say will hurt more than that, the pain of being ignored—forgotten—for another. I have stood it as long as I can, but you needn’t be afraid to tell me the truth. If you say that you love—that you’re going to marry Van Duyn, I’ll go—but not until then.”
“Mrs. Pennington is waiting for you, I think,” she gasped. But when she turned and looked into the drawing-room Mrs. Pennington was nowhere to be seen.
“No,” he went on quickly. “She has gone. I asked her to. Oh, Jane, listen to me. I made a mistake—under the impulse of a foolish moment. I’ve been a fool—but I’m not ashamed of my folly. Perhaps it shocks you to hear me say that. But I’m not ashamed—my conscience is clear. Do you think I could look you in the eyes if there was any other image between us? Call me thoughtless, if you like, careless, inconsiderate of conventions, inconsiderate even of you, but don’t insult yourself by imputing motives that never existed—that never could exist while you were in my thoughts. Oh, Jane, can’t you understand? You’re the life—the bone—the breath of me. I have no thought that does not come from you, no wish—no hope that you’re not a part of. What has Nina Jaffray to do with you and me? If I kissed her it was because—because——” He stopped and could not go on.
“That is precisely what I want to know,” she said coolly.
“I—I can’t tell you.”