“No—no—no!” she said, choking.
“It would,” Hugh insisted sadly. “Oh, I dare say my record at the front—would help me; no doubt the penalty wouldn’t be very severe—but the whole story of the robbery would have to come out—the scandal would always cling to me—I couldn’t let you share that.”
“Do you think I’d mind?”
He took her face in his hands. “You don’t realize what unhappiness it would bring you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said proudly. “I want to share it with you.”
“No, Helen—unless I clear myself I can never see you again.” She caught his hands, and held, them to her heart. He whitened under and over his war-tan, but he added almost sternly, “I mean it.”
“And what about me?” she cried passionately. “Have you thought about that?”
“It’s you I am thinking of, believe that.”
“Oh!” she cried, hurt, angry, rebellious, freeing herself from his touch; but he caught her back and held her fast. He kissed her again and again, and then—again.
“Hugh, my boy, my boy,” Mrs. Leavitt sobbed, bustling in upon them.