"I know all that," Margaret murmured; "that is not it wholly. I can't tell. I don't know yet. It is not clear…. But I know that I am proud and glad of what has been,—of our love in its fulness and glory. And I know it was not sin! Nothing can make it so to me."
She had risen and stood proudly before Isabelle.
"It has made living possible for him and for me,—it has made it something noble and great, to feel this in our souls…. I wanted to tell you; I thought you would understand, and I did not want you to be wrong about me,—not to know me all!"
She knelt and buried her head in Isabelle's lap, and when she raised her face there were tears falling from the eyes.
"I don't know why I should cry!" she exclaimed with a smile. "I don't often…. It was all so beautiful. But we women cry when we can't express ourselves any other way!"
"I shall always hope—"
Margaret shook her head.
"I don't know…. There are other things coming,—another revelation, perhaps! I don't think of what will be, dear."
But womanwise, Isabelle thought on after Margaret had left, of Falkner and Margaret, of their love. And why shouldn't it come to them, she asked herself? The other, Falkner's marriage, had been a mistake for both, a terrible mistake, and they had both paid for it. Bessie could have made it possible if she had wanted to, if she had had it in her. She had her chance. For him to go back to her now, with the gulf between them of all this past, was mere folly,—just conventional wrong-headedness. And it would probably be no better for Bessie if he were to make the sacrifice…. The revelation that Margaret had hinted of had not come to Isabelle. She lay awake thinking with aching heart of her own story,—its tragic ending. But he was not a man,—that, too, had been a mistake!
* * * * *