"I never possessed very much of you, did I?" he said, sulkily; and looked up at her quick exclamation of anger and surprise.
"What do you mean? You had all of me worth having—" there came a quick catch, in her throat—"you had all there is to me—confidence in you, gratitude for your friendship, deep, happy response to your every mood—my unquestioning love and esteem—"
"Your love?" he repeated, with an unpleasant laugh.
"What else do you call it?" she demanded, fiercely. "Is there a name less hackneyed for it? If there is, teach it to me. Yet—if ever a girl truly loved a man, I have loved you. And I do love you, dearly, honestly, cleanly, without other excuse than that, until to-night, you have been sweet to me and made me happier and better than I have ever been."
He sprang to his feet confused, deeply moved, suddenly ashamed of his own inexplicable attitude that seemed to be driving him into a bitterness that had no reason.
"Valerie," he began, but she interrupted him:
"I ask you, Kelly, to look back with me over our brief and happy companionship—over the hours together, over all you have done for me—"
"Have you done less for me?"
"I? What have I done?"
"You say you have given me—love."