Joyce's eyes dropped and a flush rose to her pale, still face.
"Then those—those people—the good people, what would they have thought about you?"
"Oh! some would have thought me a—damned scoundrel; and they would have been right had I ever intended to leave you to their mercy. Others—well, others—"
"Please tell me, you see I want to understand everything and that world is not mine—you know."
"The others,"—and now Gaston dropped his own eyes—"the others would have forgotten all about it—had I chosen to go back!"
"But they—would not have forgotten about me?"
"No. That is their imbecile code."
"And—and men know that and yet—" Her eyes widened in a dumb terror—"why, they are worse than—the people of St. Angé!"
Suddenly Gaston flung his head back and looked full at the beautiful face. It was radiant, but the eyes were overflowing. It seemed to him as if she, coming out from her shadows, were bringing all wronged womanhood with her.
"You know Joyce, you must have known no matter what else you thought, and you must know now, I never meant to leave you to their—mercy?"