He sat down, overburdened with his crime, a heartrending spectacle to Laura.
"Well," she said, "I suppose it was worth it. It must have given you an exquisite pleasure."
"It did. That's where the iniquity comes in. It gave me an exquisite pleasure at your expense."
"You give me an exquisite pleasure," she said, "in everything you do."
Her lips made a sign for him to come to her, and he came and knelt at her feet and took her hands in his. He bowed his head over them and kissed them.
"Do you know what you are?" she said. "You're a divine prodigal."
"Yes," he said, kissing her, "I'm a prodigal, a dissolute, good-for-noting wastrel. I adore you and your little holy hands; but I'm not the least use to you. You ink your blessed little fingers to the bone for me, and I take your earnings and fling them away—in—in——" He grew incoherent with kissing.
"In one night's spiritual debauchery," said she. She was pleased with her way of putting it; she was pleased, immeasurably pleased with him.
But Owen was not pleased in the very least.
"That," said he, "is precisely what I do."