“But Anna?”
“She did not believe there was an Anna. Not that it matters,” he added hastily. “I'll make Anna go to her and explain. It's her infernal jumping to a conclusion that makes me crazy.”
“She will talk, Peter. I am frightened.”
“I'll take Anna to-night and we'll go to Boyer's. I'll make that woman get down on her knees to you. I'll—”
“You'll make bad very much worse,” said Harmony dejectedly. “When a thing has to be explained it does no good to explain it.”
The salon was growing dark. Peter was very close to her again. As in the dusky kitchen only a few days before, he felt the compelling influence of her nearness. He wanted, as he had never wanted anything in his life before, to take her in his arms, to hold her close and bid defiance to evil tongues. He was afraid of himself. To gain a moment he put a chair between them and stood, strong hands gripping its back, looking down at her.
“There is one thing we could do.”
“What, Peter?”
“We could marry. If you cared for me even a little it—it might not be so bad for you.”
“But I am not in love with you. I care for you, of course, but—not that way, Peter. And I do not wish to marry.”