Just to have sat where he could look upon her all he wished, without restraint or conventions, would almost have satisfied his soul. But she gave him her hand with a grace so compelling, and her eyes asked their question so tenderly—a question only of his welfare—that riot was loosed in his veins once more and love surged over him in billows.
"I was afraid you might not come," she said. "I have never been more worried or afraid. Such a terrible moment—all of it—and that creature striking you down! If you hadn't come I'd have been so sure you were very badly hurt. I'd have felt so guilty for all I've done to jeopardize your life in my petty affairs."
"It's all right. I was ashamed for going out so easily," said
Garrison, turning away in self-defense and seating himself in a chair.
"He struck me so suddenly I had no time to guard. But that part isn't
worth another thought."
"I thought it the only part worth anything," said Dorothy in her honesty. "It came upon me suddenly that nothing I was after was worth the risks you've been assuming in my behalf. And they may not be ended. I wish they were. I wish it were all at an end! But Foster is innocent. If you knew how glad I am of that you would feel a little repaid."
"I feel thoroughly repaid and gratified," said Garrison. "I have told you before that I am glad you came into my existence with your need—your case. I have no regret over anything that has happened—to myself. It has been life to me—life! And I take a certain pride in feeling that when you come to dismiss me, at the end, I shall not have been an absolute disappointment."
She looked at him in a new alarm. He had purposely spoken somewhat bluntly of his impending dismissal. She had come to a realizing sense that she could never dismiss him from her life—that to have him near, to know he was well—to love him, in a word—had become the one motive of her life.
Nevertheless she was helpless. And he was treating the matter as if her fate were sealed to that of Fairfax indissolubly. What little timid hopes she might have entertained of gaining her freedom, some time in the future, and saving herself, soul and body, for him—all this he had somewhat dimmed by this reference to going from her ken.
"But I—I haven't said anything about dismissing—anyone," she faltered. "I hadn't thought——" She left her sentence incomplete.
"I know," said Jerold. "There has been so much to think about, the subject may have been neglected. As a matter of fact, however, I am already out of it, supplanted by your genuine husband. We can no longer maintain the pretense.
"The moment Mr. Fairfax and Theodore chance to meet, our bit of theatricalism goes to pieces. We would scarcely dare to face a court, in a will probation, with Fairfax on the scene. So, I say, I am practically eliminated already."