Then Gaston bent and raised the shrinking woman beside him. Face to face they stood in the cold, still room. "Joyce," he said thickly, "what I am going to say—you may never be able to forgive—but I must say it.
"It is quite true, I gave no thought to what I was doing when I shielded you from Jude. St. Angé did not matter; there seemed no other way—and I never considered others coming to complicate things.
"I was miserable and lonely; but I felt sure of myself and in helping you I found an interest in life. Lately, almost unconsciously, I've felt the change in you—the new meaning. I wanted to make sure and then be guided, since others had entered this—this fool's paradise of mine. You are very beautiful—the most beautiful woman, I think, that I have ever seen—and I know now that you are—the best!
"Joyce—your beauty crazed me, and I had not forgotten Jude; I did not care!"
"Stop!" The little cold hand was pressed against his lips, "you shall not! It was I who tempted you—you would have remembered—everything. It is you who must forgive me—I am going—now!"
The slow, pitiful words fell lingeringly.
"Going—where can you go?" Gaston stared dumbly at her.
"I think Mr. Drew will help me. I am going to tell him everything—and he will—find a way."
"You shall not!" Gaston drew her to his breast. The primitive rose within him.
"There is another way. The only way. Drew shall not meddle in my affairs—nor yours. You will stay right here in your home until I return. I'm going to Filmer; he's the only one we need, he'll act for us both."