“Naomi!”
“Oh yes, it was probably all true. You don’t know what I am, boy. You don’t know what I’ve been.”
He was on his feet, grasping her arm, straining down to read her veiled eyes.
“Naomi, do you know what you’re saying? He accused you of—” he halted.
She took him up without waiting.
“Of things he can prove to you, boy dear. I’ve known Marshy Kent years and years and he wouldn’t tell you anything about me he didn’t know he could back up.”
In her submission to the inevitable, in her complete lack of defense, she was so helpless, so almost child-like that the boy’s fury against Kent flamed back to his eyes, burning out the horror of her dumb confession. His hands were knotted into the hard fists that had sent his informer spinning to the floor. His chin was fighting forward. His eyes fastened on the exotic beauty that was Naomi’s intensified by the fact that she was woman, helpless under the lash of another man. That was all he saw—a beautiful woman who needed his protection! And to every other vision his youth determined to blind itself.
“I don’t care what he’s told me! I don’t care what you’ve been. I only know I love you. You’re the most [159] ]glorious, fascinating woman in the world—and I want you, do you hear! I want you more than anything—more than anyone! I love you! Naomi—will you marry me—now—to-night?”
Her eyes closed. All she had planned—all she had longed for! Marshy’s move had only succeeded in thrusting it more swiftly into her grasp. And yet she did not stop to think of that. All that registered were those three words: “I love you.” Their sweetness ran like some warm fluid through her veins.
“We’ll get away from here!” he plunged on. “I’ll take you west—home. No Kents there to tell ugly stories. We’ll forget them ourselves. Nobody need ever know. We’ll be happy—and I’ll have you all to myself. Those lips and eyes—they’ll be all mine. Naomi—dearest—let me kiss them now!”