“Stella, I’ve loved you for years, and you know it—you’ve always known it. But I’ve never asked anything of you or expected anything. All I’ve wanted has been to see you and talk to you and do anything for you that I could. It hasn’t done me any harm. I’m only just old enough to marry, and I have no means.... And up till a little while ago I was content. Then you changed, and seemed to be trying to put me off—it hurt me, Stella, because I couldn’t think why....”
“Oh, I can’t bear to hurt you.” To his surprise he saw that her tears were falling. She covered her face.
“Stella, my little Stella.”
By leaning forward he could put his hand on her knee. It was the first caress that he had ever given her, and the unbearable sweetness of it made him shiver. He let his hand lie for a few moments on her warm knee, and after a time she put her own over it.
“Gervase, I’m so sorry—I’m afraid I’ve treated you badly. I let you love me—you were so young at first, and I saw it made you happy, and I thought it would pass over. Then people began to talk, as they always do, and I took no notice—it seemed impossible, me being so much older than you—until I found that ... I mean, one day I met Peter, and he really thought we were engaged....”
It was not her words so much as the burst of bitter weeping that followed them which showed Gervase the real state of her heart. She still loved Peter.
“It’s nothing to regret, dear,” he said hurriedly—“you were perfectly right. And now I understand....”
“But it’s wrong, Gervase, it’s wrong....” By some instinct she seemed to have discovered that he guessed her secret ... “it’s wrong; but oh, I can’t help it! I wish I could. It seems dreadful not to be able to help it after all these years.”
She had gripped his hand in both hers—her body was stiff and trembling.
“Stella, darling, don’t be so upset. There’s nothing wrong in loving—how could there be? Surely you know that.”