“And then, into that solitude, came a young girl. Remember, she did not know of my existence. We—discovered each other like creatures in a new world. There are no words to describe her—I cannot even attempt it, Lynda. I ruined her life. That’s all!”
The bald, crushing truth was out. For a moment the man Lynda Kendall knew and loved seemed hiding behind this monster the confession had called forth. A lesser woman would have shrunk in affright, but not Lynda.
“No. That is not all,” she whispered hoarsely, putting her hands out as though pushing something tangible aside until she could reach Conning. “I demand the rest.”
“What matters it?” Truedale spoke bitterly. “If I tell how and why, can that alter the—fact? Oh! I have had my hours of explaining and justifying and glossing over; but I’ve come at last to the point where I see myself as I am and I shall never argue the thing again.”
“Con, you have shown me the man as man might see him; I must—I must have him as a woman—as his God—must see him!”
“And you think it possible for me to grant this? You—you, Lynda, would you have me put up a defense for what I did?”
“No. But I would have you throw all the light upon it that you can. I want to see—for myself. I will not accept the hideous skeleton you have hung before me. Con, I have never really known but five men in my life; but women—women have lain heart deep along my way ever since—I learned to know my mother! Not only for yourself, but for that girl who drifted into your solitude, I demand light—all that you can give me!”
And now Truedale breathed hard and the muscles of his face twitched. He was about to lay bare the inscrutable, the holy thing of his life, fearing that even the woman near him could not be just. He had accepted his own fate, so he thought; he meant not to whine or complain, but how was he to live his life if Lynda failed to agree with him—where Nella-Rose was concerned?
“Will you—can you—do what I ask, Con?”
“Yes—in a minute.”