"We—we've got to come to an understanding——" she gasped at last desperately.
"Exactly—an understanding. That's what I'm getting at——" he laughed and sank into a chair by the lay figure. "Oh, don't be disturbed. I'm not going to try to kiss you again. It's too dangerous."
She watched him intently while he took out a package of cigarettes and lighted one. And then, with a wave of the hand, "An understanding—by all means. Fire away."
"It isn't necessary to go into the past, except to say what you know already—that our marriage was a horrible mistake. But we did have an understanding then—that you were to wait—that you were to—to make good—and that I was to try to—to care for you."
"Quite so. And we've both failed?"
"Thanks. We—we have both failed," she repeated. "I can't say I ever really believed we should succeed until——"
"Until you went to the hospital."
She bent her head. "The main thing is," she went on more evenly as she gathered courage, "that whatever my hopes were for you, now at least you've forfeited all claim to consideration."
"Why? Because I take a fancy to my own uniform—my own personality?"
"Because you——" she paused to catch her breath, "because you've stooped to something—something unworthy—something vile and terrible, perhaps—God knows, to get rid of a man—your own brother,—who did you a service; and because you'll dare to receive honors that don't belong to you." And then, as he started up, "One moment. I don't know what happened on the battlefield. If you were injured, it was a glorious—foolish thing Jim Horton did for you. But whatever he did and whatever his motive, it deserves something of you—something different from what you've confessed. Tell me what you have done with him and I'll try to believe you."