“Can’t you take anything for granted?” Ida asked demurely. “Must one always explain in full to you?”
She felt the man’s arms close about her, and his lips hot on her cheek; but in another moment he drew away from her.
“But this is madness,” he said. “I have nothing. In a few more weeks I shall be an outcast.”
“Ah,” said Ida, “you have given me all that counts for anything, and”—she looked up at him with shining eyes and burning cheeks—“you belong to me.”
He stood silent for several moments, with trouble in his face, apparently struggling with himself.
“What are you thinking of?” she asked,
Weston raised his head.
“I dare not think,” he said. “I’ve won you by unfair means—and yet, knowing that, I’m only filled with the exultation of it. Still, this thing has to be faced and decided now. You know I love you—but is it right that you should be bound to a man who may never be able to marry you?”
“Is that any great obstacle,” asked Ida, “if I don’t object?”
“It is,” said Weston, hoarsely. “I want you now.”