He was through with the Past forever. The Past that had held him to a false ideal. There should be no more imbecile philosophy in the North Woods as far as he and she were concerned.
"See here," he began, and his voice was almost hard; "don't you know when I shut you away from what you knew as danger—Jude and all the rest of the hell that went with him—I shut you away from what people—people like Drew and his set—know as mercy?"
Joyce's eyes widened, but she did not speak. Gaston rushed on—he wanted the scene over. She was too heavenly beautiful sitting there, he must bring her closer.
"They would call you—well, they wouldn't call you a good woman. They are very particular about their women. In a way, you must have known this, Joyce. You've played the game like a thoroughbred, and when one considers how you've played it, the wonder grows—but they'd never believe that—even if we told them. Great heavens! how could they, if they saw you?
"That there was no other way for me to help you then, that you had no other shelter in God's world would not alter the case at all. And I've been a fool, Joyce, a maudlin fool—all along!"
The woman opposite was looking at him through tears, but the sweet mouth was quivering pitifully.
"Joyce"; the tone caused the tear-dimmed eyes to close; "let us face the music—and—dance along to the tune."
Gaston leaned toward her and when she dared to look at him she saw that the future was in her hands!
"You—you thought I knew this all along?"
"In a way—yes!"