She stood back from him, staring with bewildered, dismayed eyes.
“I forgot for the moment that I’m only a counterfeit,” he pleaded.
“You forgot—many things,” said she slowly.
“Forgive me, Darcy,” he said again. “It—it swept me off my feet—the sweetness of it. It was base—dishonorable—anything you want to call it; but when I felt you in my arms—”
“Oh, don’t!” she wailed.
“Will it make it better or worse if I tell you that I love you as I never loved or thought I could love any woman?”
“Worse! Worse! Infinitely worse!”
“This is the end of me,” he said. He spoke quietly and in a flat, even tone as a man might speak who knew that he was giving up everything in life worth having. “I’ll not offend again. But—after I’d kissed you—you had to know. I couldn’t let you think it anything less than it was, the going out to you of a heart that I could no longer control.”
“In dishonor!”
“If you will have it so. The dishonor is mine. You are untouched by it.... Now, let us get to other matters. Are you hurt?”