"You'd no right to do it," she exclaimed a little breathlessly.
"I painted what I saw."
She was silent, tremulously disturbed. He could see the quick rise and fall of her breast beneath the filmy white of her gown.
"Nan," he went on in low, tense tones. "Did you think I could be with you, day after day like this, and not—find out? Could I have painted your face, loving each line of it, and not learned the truth?" She stretched out her hand as though to check him, but he paid no heed. "The truth that Roger is nothing to you—never will be!"
"He's the man I'm going to marry," she said unevenly.
"And I'm only the man who loves you! . . . But because I failed once, putting love second, must I be punished eternally? I'm ready to put it first now—to lay all I have and all I've done on its altar."
"What—what do you mean?" she stammered.
He put his hands lightly on her shoulders and drew her nearer to him.
"Is it hard to guess, Nan? . . . I want you to leave this life you hate and come with me. Let me take you away—right away from it all—and, somewhere we'll find happiness together."
She stared at him with wide, horrified eyes.