“Of course I didn’t mean that!”
Under a street lamp she saw in his face once more the grave troubled look that she had observed at intervals during the concert. It was foolish to question now that his interest in her was something more than a passing fancy. Her thoughts flew to the other woman, the wife of whom he had spoken at The Shack only to apologize for it in his letter from St. Louis. He was thinking of her of course; it was impossible for him to ignore the fact that he had a wife. And again as so many times before she speculated as to whether he might not still love this woman and be seeking diversion elsewhere out of sheer loneliness. But as they passed into the shadows again, her hand resting lightly on his arm, she experienced suddenly a strong desire to be kind to him. She was profoundly moved by the thought that it was in her power to pour out to him in great measure the affection and comradeship which he had confessed he hungered for.
They had crossed the canal bridge and were nearing the Durland house. Trenton was accommodating himself perforce to her rapid pace. The tonic air kept her pulses throbbing. She was sure that she loved this man; that the difference in their years was as nothing weighed against his need for her. Tonight, she knew, marked a crisis in their relationship. If she parted from him without making it clear that she wished never to see him again she would be putting herself wholly at the mercy of a fate that might bear her up or down. With only a block more to traverse she battled with herself, summoned all her courage to resist him, only to find that her will was unequal to the contest.
Deep in her heart she did not want to send him away with no hope of seeing him again. He was her one link with the great world beyond the city in which, without his visits to look forward to, she was doomed to lead a colorless, monotonous existence. She was moved by a compassion for him, poignantly tender, that swept away all sense of reality and transcended the bounds of time and space. The very thought of losing him, of not knowing where he would be in the endless tomorrows, only that she would never see him again, was like a pain in her heart. The need in him spoke to the need in her—for companionship, help, affection.
They seemed vastly isolated in the quiet street, as though the world had gone away and left them to settle their affairs with only the stars for witnesses. It had been easy to parry Bob Cummings’s attempts to assume a lover-like attitude toward her. But with Trenton this would be impossible. With him it would be necessary to state in the plainest terms that their acquaintance must end.
Nothing had been said since her last remark and if she meant to thrust him away from her she must act quickly. In a winning fashion of his own he was frank and forthright. She found it difficult to anticipate him and prepare her replies. There was no leer in him and he did not take refuge in timid gallantries; he addressed her as a man who felt that he had a right to a hearing. And this, in her confused, bewildered senses, gave dignity to the situation. He loved her and she loved him—she was sure she loved him—and her heart was in a wild tumult. She was afraid to speak lest the merest commonplace might betray her eagerness to confess her love for him.
He stepped in front of her and clasped the hand that lay lightly on his arm.
“I’ve got to say it; I must say it now,” he said in grave even tones. “No woman ever meant to me what you mean. The first night I met you I knew it had come—the thing I had hoped for—and sometimes had dreaded,—a woman I could know as I’ve never known any woman, not my wife or any other! After I left you I couldn’t get you out of my mind.” He paused for an instant, then went on hurriedly with undisguised intensity of feeling. “You may think me mad when I’ve seen you so little; and I know I have no right to love you at all! But I do love you! I want you to belong to me!”
A gust of wind caught up a mass of leaves from the gutter and flung them about their feet as though to remind them of the mutability of all things. He had said that he loved her; almost savagely he had demanded that she give herself to him. It was incredible that he cared so much, that his desire for her could be so great.
He released her hand as though in sign that he wanted her to speak without compulsion. He waited quietly, his shoulders thrown a little forward, and in the dim starlight she saw his eyes, bright and eager, searching her own.