But at that he released her, lifting her face in his hands.
“You’ve brought me back to life. You’ve made me come back when I was afraid to come—and when I hated to come. You’ve made me want to try all over. And there’s not a thing in the world I can do for you—nothing to offer you—nothing.”
She felt suddenly grown-up and maternal.
“Isn’t it enough to—love me?” she asked, hesitating a little.
“My love!” He scorned it.
“It’s a strong, beautiful love.”
He turned away drearily.
“You romance—you can’t help romancing. No, it’s not beautiful; it’s strong, God knows, but not beautiful. Don’t you see, Horatia—don’t you see I’m a spent sort of person. I can’t take your youth and loveliness. I haven’t a right. You belong to someone young and fine like yourself.”
“I belong where I love.” Horatia was impatient of argument. She was a woman in love and a hundred instincts pulled at her heart.
Langley paled at the words. Then again he held her close to him—despairingly close.