“Nora!”
She flung herself on her knees in front of him. “I am a wretch!” she said.
He could only repeat her name.
“I am not worth my salt. Ah, why did you run away? Why did you not pursue me, importune me until I wearied? ... perhaps gladly? There were times when I would have opened my arms had you been the worst scoundrel in the world instead of the dearest lover, the patientest! Ah, can you forgive me?”
“Forgive you, Nora?” He was numb.
“I am a miserable wretch! I doubted you, I! When all I had to do was to recall the way people misrepresented things I had done! I sent back your letters ... and read and reread the old blue ones. Don’t you remember how you used to write them on blue paper? ... Flora told me everything. It was only because she hated me, not that she cared anything about you. She told me that night at the ball. I believe the duke forced her to do it. She was at the bottom of the abduction. When you kissed me ... didn’t you know that I kissed you back? Edward, I am a miserable wretch, but I shall follow you wherever you go, and I haven’t even a vanity-box in my hand-bag!” There were tears in her eyes. “Say that I am a wretch!”
He drew her up beside him. His arms closed around her so hungrily, so strongly, that she gasped a little. He looked into her eyes; his glance traveled here and there over her face, searching for the familiar dimple at one corner of her mouth.
“Kiss me!”
And then the train came to a stand, jerkily. They fell back against the cushions.