He darted a menacing glance at me, but there was nothing of irony in my sober visage.
“You appear here,” I said, “after the others have sailed from Lorient. Why? To do Speed this generous favor? Yes—and to do yourself the pleasure of ending an embittered life under the eyes of the woman who ruined you.”
The boy flinched as though I had struck him in the face. For a moment I expected a blow; his hands clinched convulsively, and he focussed me with blazing eyes.
“Don’t,” I said, quietly. “I am trying to be your friend; I am trying to save you from yourself, Kelly. Don’t throw away your life—as I have done. Life is a good thing, Kelly, a good thing. Can we not be friends though I tell you the truth?”
The color throbbed and throbbed in his face. There was a chair near him; he groped for it, and sat down heavily.
“Life is a good thing,” I said again, “but, Kelly, truth is better. And I must tell you the—well, something of the truth—as much as you need know ... now. My friend, she is not worth it.”
“Do you think that makes any difference?” he said, harshly. “Let me alone, Scarlett. I know!... I know, I tell you!” 351
“Do you mean to tell me that you know she deliberately betrayed you?” I demanded.
“Yes, I know it—I tell you I know it!”
“And ... you love her?”