"A comradeship?" he questioned. "When you know I love you?"
"Yes," she affirmed in a low voice.
"I am afraid, after all, that your knowledge of man is very limited. Believe me, we are not made of such clay. A comradeship? A coming in out of the cold to sit by your fire? Good. But a coming in when another man sits with you by your fire? No. Comradeship would demand that I delight in your delights, and yet, do you think for a moment that I could see you with another man's child in your arms, a child which might have been mine; with that other man looking out at me through the child's eyes, laughing at me through its mouth? I say, do you think I could delight in your delights? No, no; love cannot shackle itself with white friendships."
She put her hand on his arm.
"Do you think I am wrong?" he asked, bewildered by the strange look in her face.
She was sobbing quietly.
"You are tired and overwrought. So there, good-night. You must get to bed."
"No, don't go, not yet." And she arrested him. "No, no; I am foolish.
As you say, I am tired. But listen, Vance. There is much to be done.
We must plan to-morrow's work. Come inside. Father and Baron
Courbertin are together, and if the worst comes, we four must do big
things."
"Spectacular," Jacob Welse commented, when Frona had briefly outlined the course of action and assigned them their parts. "But its very unexpectedness ought to carry it through."
"A coup d'etat!" was the Baron's verdict. "Magnificent! Ah! I feel warm all over at the thought. 'Hands up!' I cry, thus, and very fierce.