“Mrs. Falchion,” I said firmly, “I wish to please you—so well that some day you will feel that I have been a good friend to you as well as to him—”
Again she interrupted me. “You talk in foolish riddles. No good can come of this.”
“I cannot believe that,” I urged; “for when once your heart is moved by the love of a man, you will be just, and then the memory of another man who loved you and sinned for you—”
“Oh, you coward!” she broke out scornfully—“you coward to persist in this!”
I made a little motion of apology with my hand, and was silent. I was satisfied. I felt that I had touched her as no words of mine had ever touched her before. If she became emotional, was vulnerable in her feelings, I knew that Roscoe’s peace might be assured. That she loved Roscoe now I was quite certain. Through the mists I could see a way, even if I failed to find Madras and arrange another surprising situation. She was breathing hard with excitement.
Presently she said with incredible quietness, “Do not force me to do hard things. I have a secret.”
“I have a secret too,” I answered. “Let us compromise.”
“I do not fear your secret,” she answered. She thought I was referring to her husband’s death. “Well,” I replied, “I honestly hope you never will. That would be a good day for you.”
“Let us go,” she said; then, presently: “No, let us sit here and forget that we have been talking.”
I was satisfied. We sat down. She watched the scene silently, and I watched her. I felt that it would be my lot to see stranger things happen to her than I had seen before; but all in a different fashion. I had more hope for my friend, for Ruth Devlin, for—!