Another home-thrust! He stands fire like a soldier, rallies, and meets her with another shot.
"This from you, Lulu! I did not think it in you to twit me with loving another man's wife!"
"I did not mean it that way," she answers, flushed and imploringly. "I meant—only meant to show you, Bruce, that I could not—oh! that I cared too much for you to be happy with you unless your love was strong and deep as mine."
"I did not think you could be so jealous and exacting, child."
"I am not jealous nor exacting. I am only true to my woman's nature," she answers, sweetly and firmly.
"Nonsense!" he answers, brusquely, "let all that pass—I do love you, Brownie, not as I loved her, I own it. But you are so sweet and lovable that it will be easy for you to fill up my heart, to the exclusion of all other past love. Try it and see, dear. Promise me that you will give yourself to me."
"I cannot."
"Is that final?"
"Final!" she gasped, as white as her dress, and leaning unwillingly against his shoulder.
"Why, Brownie, child, dearest, look up—heavens! she is fainting," cried Bruce, and taking her in his arms, he ran into a little pavilion near by, and laying her down on the low, rustic bench within, opened the gold-stoppered bottle of salts that swung by a golden chain to her belt, and applied it to her nostrils.