"Of course not. Let us ignore Possible Sacrifice Number Two, and assume that Mrs. Balfame is acquitted,—which no doubt will be the case; few are worrying; and further assume that you will marry her; that she will marry you is the way she put it, not being an artist in words. Once more we will dismiss both subjects. Yes?"
She was stooping to recover her muff, and he noticed that her hands were shaking and that the dusky pink was in her cheeks for the first time.
"I am only too ready. But—there is little else for us to talk about!"
"Yes, there is! When people are on their deathbeds they can afford to be truthful, and you have dug your grave and mine."
She was erect once more and she looked at him steadily, although her breath was short and her cheeks blazing.
"What do you mean by that?" His eyes no longer looked like blue steel. They were flashing, and a curious wave of mobility passed over his face.
"I mean that you love me now. I think you always loved me—when we spent so many hours together in perfect companionship—when you found so much in me that responded to so many of your own needs. But for the time being this was only a surface impression. It was unable to strike down to—to your soul, because between your outer and inner vision was the delusion. You had cherished some sort of ideal since boyhood, and when for the first time in your busy life you met a woman who seemed to materialise it—you never once had a half-hour's conversation with her!—you automatically rose to the opportunity to discharge a youthful obligation. Isn't that true?"
He would not answer, and she continued:
"You passed me over because you had to be rid of the delusion first, bag and baggage. There is only one way to get rid of an old delusion like that, and unconsciously you took it! The pity of it is, in our case, that you compromised yourself so promptly, instead of waiting—well, for ten weeks!"