“Now, Phyllis,” said Barry, facing her, with a settled fierceness in his voice and manner. “I am quite mad, I know, to love you, but I do. I can't help it any more than breathing. I have no right to tell you this, perhaps. I am nobody, and I have nothing to offer any girl. I see that now. Oh, I see that clearly now, but I never thought of that part of it before. I only loved you. How could I help it? I hardly knew myself until tonight. But I know now,” he added in a voice of triumph, the gloom lifting from his face, and the fierce light fading from his eyes. “Yes, I know now, Phyllis. I love you. I shall always love you. I love you and I am glad to love you. Nothing can take that from me.”
All this time she was standing before him, her face white, her lips parted, a look of wonder, almost of fear, in the brown eyes, so bravely holding his, her hands pressed hard upon her bosom, as if to stay its tumult.
“I have no right to say this to you,” said Barry again. “You belong to a great family. Perhaps you are rich. Great Heavens!” he groaned. “I never thought of that. You are beautiful. Many men will love you, great men and rich men will love you. You are so wonderful. Why, there's Captain Neil, he—”
“Captain Neil,” echoed Phyllis, with infinite scorn in her voice.
“Well, many men.”
“Many men,” she repeated, her lips beginning to tremble. “Oh, Barry, can't you see? You blind boy. There's only one man for me, Barry, and that's you, just you.” She came near to him, laid her hands upon his breast, her eyes looking into his.
“Phyllis,” he said, putting his arms round her, a great wonder in his voice. “It can't be true! Oh, it can't be true! Yet your eyes, your dear eyes say so. Phyllis, I do believe you love me.”
The little hands slid up around his neck; he drew her close.
“Phyllis, my dear, dear, love,” he whispered.
He felt her body suddenly relax, and as she leaned backwards in his arms, still clinging to him, he bent over her and his lips met hers in a long kiss.