"But—but—it wasn't altogether my fault—Mary," he pleaded in a voice in which contrition, distress and desire were eloquently blended. "I didn't mean to be dishonest. Coward I may have been but—but—oh, Mary! What can I say or do to be forgiven? To be at least kindly remembered?"
He bent forward again, resting his elbows on his knees and clutching his temples in his palms as if utterly given over to despair. It seemed to him that there was a prolonged wait in which she was coming to her decision, an interval filled with portent and so lifeless and still that tiny sounds from without became magnified.
Her voice, hesitant, and low, but, to his relief, gentle, broke the interminable spell.
"Suppose—suppose I were to tell you that—that I'm not going to marry Judge Granger, because after you came here yesterday I knew how impossible it was and wrote and told him so. And——"
"Mary! Mary, don't make it supposititious," he appealed, leaping to his feet. "That would be cruelty! Tell me that it's true, and that I am free to tell you that I love you—love you! You know that I do, and that there's no use in my trying to hide it."
She retreated from him a trifle, as if to escape his impetuosity, then, when he paused as if fearing to frighten her with his ardor, smiled at him and said, "Yes, Bill Jones. It's true!"
He caught her in his arms. For a moment he held her close while she made her last resistance, and then slowly lifted her hands upward until they came to rest about his shoulders.
"That's why I made you promise to come back," she said. "I—I couldn't let you go! I couldn't! I don't care what anyone thinks of it, I am what I am, and—I love you!"
They were suddenly aware of heavy steps climbing the studio stairs and she pushed him away hurriedly, bashfully.
"My Father!" she whispered. "I—I forgot that he was coming to get me. But—you'll love Dad," and then, as if suddenly remembering something, she laughed softly and added hastily, "I don't believe you even know my name. Don't forget it, now that Mary Allen is dead. My name is Sayers—Margaret Sayers, and my father's name is Sayers, Thomas Sayers, and he's in the motor business and—for heaven's sake!—pretend we've known each other for years and years!"