He turned on her bluntly, almost rudely. "Yes, the whole thing's wrong. It's wrong of me to let you come here. Wrong of me to love you." Then, his reserve breaking down: "I've tried to reason this thing out till I've grown nearly mad with it. I've always loved my profession; always thought that a lawyer's first duty was to obey the law. But now, loving you, the law doesn't seem to count. Only you count. You and your happiness. It's only you I'm thinking of, not my--my rotten career."
Once again he fell on his knees to her, protesting, incoherent; once again he took her in his arms; and kissed her, very tenderly, on her eyes, on her half-closed lips. His kisses weakened her.
"Ronnie," she whispered. "My Ronnie, I love you so."
Her whisper kindled him again to passion.
"Aliette," he said hoarsely, "Aliette, I can't give you up. I can't live without you."
For a moment she yielded herself; for a moment her lips, her hands, her whole body clung to their happiness; for a moment all her fears, all her self-torturings were stifled. Then she broke from him; and her eyes grew resolute.
"Ronnie, there's some one whom neither of us has considered--your mother."
"The old cannot stand between the young and their happiness." His eyes, too, were resolute. "We're still young, you and I. We've all our lives to live. And besides"--he weakened,--"the mater likes you."
"She'd hate me if I didn't make you give me up."
"You don't know her, dear."