“Where is she?” I said, steadying my voice, which my leaping heart almost stifled.
He drew me by the elbow and looked toward the right of the amphitheatre. Following the direction of his eyes, I saw her leaning forward, pale-faced, grave, small, gloved hands interlocked. Beside her sat Sylvia Elven, apparently amused at the antics of the clown.
Shame filled me. Not the false shame I had felt—that vanished—but shame that I could have misunderstood the presence of this brave friend of mine, this brave, generous, tender-hearted girl, who had given me her friendship, who was true enough to care what might happen to me—and brave enough to say so.
“I will be careful,” I said to Speed, in a low voice. “If it were not for Byram I would not go on to-day—but that is a matter of honor. Oh, Speed,” I broke out, “is she not worth dying for?”
“Why not live for her?” he observed, dryly.
“I will—don’t misunderstand me—I know she could never even think of me—as I do—of her—yes, as I dare to, Speed. I dare to love her with all this wretched heart and soul of mine! It’s all right—I think I am crazy to talk like this—but you are kind, Speed—you will 298 forget what I said—you have forgotten it already—bless your heart—”
“No, I haven’t,” he retorted, obstinately. “You must win her—you must! Shame on you for a coward if you do not speak that word which means life to you both!”
“Speed!” I began, angrily.
“Oh, go to the devil!” he snapped, and walked off to where Jacqueline stood glittering, her slim limbs striking fire from every silver scale.
“All ready, little sweetheart!” he cried, reassuringly, as she raised her blue eyes to his and shook her elf-locks around her flushed face. “It’s our turn now; they’re uncovering the tank, and Miss Crystal is on her trapeze. Are you nervous?”