"In that room"—she looked quiveringly at the closed door—"for a moment, I misunderstood again. I thought you were trifling with me. I think I felt for the first time that perhaps I was not what I had been—when I came out of the old life! I wanted to make sure, and I stooped to the meanest way."
Gaston drew her close. Vaguely he feared that she was slipping farther and farther from him for all her sweetness and nearness.
"Joyce!" he cried wildly. "You are not going to desert me—now?"
She dropped beside him and clasped her hands over his knee. There was no need of reserve, she knew that better than he.
"Can you not see what sort of man you are?" she asked fiercely; while the tears fell thick and fast.
"Oh! I love you many, many ways. I can tell you this now and you must not stop me. I love you for them who left you alone to suffer. I love you just for myself, and I love you as I would have loved my poor baby had God let me keep him. And that is the best way of all, for it holds all other loves.
"Oh, you must see! You shall see! The men out in your world—could any of them have done what you have done—for me? Even Mr. Drew could not understand. Even he thought you must have harmed me—he felt sorry for me! And knowing what I know, do you, could any of those others, think I would let you harm—yourself?
"You have made me a stronger woman than even you tried to make me, and I thank God for that—for you need me so very, very much!"
The deep sobs choked her, and she buried her head against his arm. Out of a desolation her words were creating, Gaston spoke desperately.
"I do need you, and by heaven, I mean to have you!"