“Oh, yes,” answered Holly, simply.
“I was married when I was twenty-four years old,” began Winthrop, after a moment. “I had just finished a course in the law school. The girl I married was four years younger than I. She was very beautiful and a great belle in the little city in which she lived. We went to New York and I started in business with a friend of mine. We were stock brokers. A year later my wife bore me a son; we called him Robert. For five years we were very happy; those years were the happiest I have ever known. Then the boy died.” He was silent a moment. “I loved him a great deal, and I took it hard. I made a mistake then. To forget my trouble I immersed myself too deeply, perhaps, in business. Well, two years later I made the discovery that I had failed to keep my wife’s love. If our boy had lived it would have been different but his death left her lonely and—I was thoughtless, selfish in my own sorrow, until it was too late. I found that my wife had grown to love another man. I don’t blame her; I never have. And she was always honest with me. She told me the truth. She sued me for divorce and I didn’t contest. That was six years ago. She has been married for five years and I think, I pray, that she is very happy.”
He paused, and Holly darted a glance at his face. He was looking straight ahead down the woodland path, and for an instant she felt very lonely and apart. Then—
“You see, dear,” he continued, “I have failed to keep one woman’s love. Could I do better another time? I think so, but—who knows? It would be a risk for you, wouldn’t it?”
He turned and smiled gently at her, and she smiled tremulously back.
“There,” he said. “Now you know what I am. I am thirty-eight years old, twenty years older than you, and a divorced man into the bargain. Even if you were willing to excuse those things, Holly, I fear your aunt could not.”
“If I were willing,” answered Holly, evenly, “nothing else would matter. But—you will tell me one thing? Do you—are you quite, quite sure that you do not still love her—a little?”
“Quite, Holly. The heart I offer, dear, is absolutely free.”
“I think God did mean me to love you, then, after all,” said Holly, thoughtfully.
Winthrop arose and stood before her, and held out his hand. She placed hers in it and with her eyes on his allowed him to raise her gently toward him.