“No woman deserves such love as his,” said Janet; and Christy saw that she had tears in her eyes. He knew that he was only second in her heart, and that Bertram held first place. She made no secret of it, and spoke frankly to him.
“I love every hair of his head, my dear. You won’t be angry when I tell you that?”
“Not angry,” said Christy, “nor jealous. I have your friendship, and it’s good enough.”
“My friendship for ever,” she said, “and more loyal because you know about this boy, and understand.”
“Need you send for Joyce?” he asked. “Perhaps if he gets well—”
She shook her head, and knew what he meant to say, and did not dare to say.
“No. That would be a dirty kind of trick, and I’ve kept clean, so far. All through the night he has kept calling for Joyce. She’s still in possession of him, and I’ve no claim.”
“In London,” said Christy, “he had to cut and run from you.”
He was arguing against his own hopes and chance.
“Yes,” said Janet, “I could have had him then. But it would have been stealing. Breaking his loyalty. I’m not like that.”