“Yes. I love you,” she cried dully.
“Then nothing else matters.”
She had risen to her feet and he drew nearer to her, but she raised her hand.
“Don’t touch me,” she cried vehemently.
“I don’t understand you, Mildred. You tell me that you love me, and yet——”
“There is blood on your hands. I love you, but instead of being my glory it is my shame,” she said brokenly.
“You are melodramatic, and that is not usual in you. I wish you would tell me exactly what you do mean,” he cried impatiently.
“My meaning is clear. I have tried to explain, and——”
Gaunt had been controlling himself by a great effort, but his passion cast off all bonds and he seized her in his arms. His lips sought hers and he kissed her passionately, not once but many times, in spite of her struggles to free herself from his embrace.
“You love me and I tell you that nothing else matters. I am not worse than other men,” he cried earnestly.