She drew away from him, and her eyes grew sorrowful. "Did you quarrel because of anything she said to you about me?"
Again he hesitated; again her intuition leaped to the truth. "I've been afraid you might. Something told me, that morning in the park, that she must have guessed. I can't come between you and your mother. You mustn't quarrel with her on my account. Whatever she may have said, you must go to her, tell her everything, and ask her--if she can--to forgive----"
"Never!" The very humility angered him. "Never! It's not for her to forgive, but for me----"
"Then it was because of me that you quarreled?"
"Yes."
"Foolish man!" It hurt her desperately to think that his mother should have understood so little; but she knew that she must conceal the hurt. "As if I'd let you quarrel with any one, least of all your mother, on my account. You'll go to her, won't you? You'll tell her that I--that I don't ask for any recognition----"
Rudely, obstinately, he interrupted her: "Of course she must recognize you. Either she's on our side or she's against us."
"Ronnie"--her eyes suffused with tears--"Ronnie, I told you we'd got to be happy with one another. You make me unhappy--when you speak like that. You make me feel like a thief. You do want me to be happy, don't you?"
"Yes. Always." His anger vanished. Bending down, he tried to kiss the tears from her eyes. "Always, darling."
"Then won't you"--she was in his arms now; the warmth, the perfume, the very unhappiness of her a fresh thrill--"won't you grant me this one favor? It's the only favor I'll ever ask."