Nan drew away and looked long into the steady, tranquil eyes. She had not been prepared for this. It was beyond comprehension that her story could be received with so much magnanimity, that forgiveness could be so easily won. She caught the hands that clasped her face and kissed them.
“Oh, you don’t know!” she cried fearfully. “I haven’t made you understand!”
“Yes, I understand it all, Nancy; I’d guessed most of it without your telling me. And it does make a difference; yes, it makes a very great difference.” And then, feeling Nan’s hands relax their tight hold, and seeing the fear in her face, she smiled and added, “But not the difference you think!”
“Oh, if only you don’t send me away! It was brazen of me ever to come; I don’t know how you came to take me without a question, when I’d done you the greatest wrong one woman can do another.”
“But maybe you didn’t!” said Fanny quickly, with a wistful little smile. “I’m going to ask you one question, Nancy,—just to be sure. But you needn’t answer; you won’t feel you must, will you?”
“Anything—anything!” Nan faltered.
Fanny turned her head, as though doubting, questioning, and her eyes were very grave.
“Then, Nancy, tell me this—and please be very honest, and don’t trouble about what I may think or feel about your answer—do you—do you love Billy—now?”
“No; no! It was never love; it was never really that! His attentions turned my head, and I hadn’t the sense to keep away from him. It was all my fault. I’m ashamed to tell you that I was very lonely after I came home from school—it is ungrateful to be saying it; but I have always felt uneasy—self-conscious among the people here. I have never got away from the feeling that whenever they saw me they were saying, ‘That’s the girl the Farleys raked out of the river and did everything for—and just look at her!’ I couldn’t help that—the feeling that they knew I was just a waif, a nobody. It made me rebellious and defiant. Oh, I know it was unjustified and that it’s unkind to speak of it even to you. And that’s why—one reason, at least—I’ve enjoyed knowing Jerry so much. Jerry knows, and he doesn’t care! He knows every little tiny thing about me and my people, and how poor and wretched we were! But Billy—I haven’t any feeling about him now except—just friendliness—and pity!”
“Then I’ll tell you something that will show you how very dear you are to me,” said Fanny,—speaking slowly. “I think it was this that drew me to you—made me want to be friends with you when Mr. Farley first brought us together. Oh, Nan,”—her voice sank to a whisper,—“I still love Billy! I never stopped loving him!”