“I have not been to you; I have not written,” he said, in a deep voice. “I felt that it was a duty to respect your sorrow. I have felt for you none the less deeply.”
She stood looking gravely in his eyes, and he went on—
“Under the painful circumstances, I could not come to you; I was driven from your side. But Claude, dearest,” he continued, with the passion within him making his words vibrate, as it were, in her breast, and her heart flutter as it had never beaten before. “I love you more clearly than ever; and listen, darling—I would not say it, but cruel words have been spoken about my mercenary thoughts.”
“Don’t, don’t,” she murmured.
“But one word—for your sake.”
“No, no,” she cried piteously.
“Then for mine,” he pleaded.
“What do you wish to say?”
“Then I am no longer the poor beggar I was called.”
“Chris!”