“It was delirium,” I said softly. It was my final lie in that house of mendacity.
He drew a satisfied breath, and lifting my hand, held it to his lips and kissed it.
“I can hardly believe it is you,” he said. “I have to hold firmly to your hand or you will disappear. Can’t you move your chair closer? You are miles away.” So I did it, for he was not to be excited.
After a little—
“It’s awfully good of you to do this. I have been desperately sorry, Kit, about the other night. It was a ruffianly thing to do—to kiss you, when I thought—”
“You are to keep very still,” I reminded him. He kissed my hand again, but he persisted.
“I was mad—crazy.” I tried to give him some medicine, but he pushed the spoon aside. “You will have to listen,” he said. “I am in the depths of self-disgust. I—I can’t think of anything else. You see, you seemed so convinced that I was the blackguard that somehow nothing seemed to matter.”
“I have forgotten it all,” I declared generously, “and I would be quite willing to be friends, only, you remember you said—”
“Friends!” his voice was suddenly reckless, and he raised on his elbow. “Friends! Who wants to be friends? Kit, I was almost delirious that night. The instant I held you in my arms—It was all over. I loved you the first time I saw you. I—I suppose I’m a fool to talk like this.”
And, of course, just then Dallas had to open the door and step into the room. He was covered with dirt and he had a hatchet in his hand.