She held to his coat lapels, standing close beside him, her warm breath beating up into his face.
“Well,” she said, “kiss me!”
He took her wrists in his and loosed her hold, then looked down on her gravely and said:
“No—that’s all over. I told you so when I left Dawson.”
“All over! Oh no, it isn’t, boy. You think so, but it isn’t—it can’t be. I love you too much to let you go.”
“Hush!” said he. “There are people in the next box.”
“I don’t care! Let them hear,” she cried, with feminine recklessness. “I’m proud of my love for you. I’ll tell it to them—to the whole world.”
“Now, see here, little girl,” he said, quietly, “we had a long talk in Dawson and agreed that it was best to divide our ways. I was mad over you once, as a good many other men have been, but I came to my senses. Nothing could ever result from it, and I told you so.”
“Yes, yes—I know. I thought I could give you up, but I didn’t realize till you had gone how I wanted you. Oh, it’s been a torture to me every day for the past two years.” There was no semblance now to the cold creature she had appeared upon entering the gambling-hall. She spoke rapidly, her whole body tense with emotion, her voice shaken with passion. “I’ve seen men and men and men, and they’ve loved me, but I never cared for anybody in the world till I saw you. They ran after me, but you were cold. You made me come to you. Perhaps that was it. Anyhow, I can’t stand it. I’ll give up everything—I’ll do anything just to be where you are. What do you think of a woman who will beg? Oh, I’ve lost my pride—I’m a fool—a fool—but I can’t help it.”
“I’m sorry you feel this way,” said Glenister. “It isn’t my fault, and it isn’t of any use.”