"Gay?" he interrupted, then caught himself. "Yes, I suppose I do seem gay—God knows I try not to cry out—but, really, sometimes I'm near to ending it all——"
She was excited to a panic of negation.
"Oh, no! no!" she expostulated vehemently. ("Egad, she's stunning when she's aroused!" thought Sansome.) "You mustn't talk like that! It isn't fair to yourself; it isn't fair to your manhood! Oh, how you do need some one to pull you up! If I could only help!"
He raised his head and looked directly at her, his dark, melancholy eyes lighting slowly.
"You have helped; you are helping," he murmured. "I suppose I have been weak and a coward, I will try."
"That's right. I am so glad," she said, glowing with sweetness and a desire to aid. "Now you must turn over a new leaf," she hesitated. "Every way, I mean," she added with a little blush.
"I know I drink more than I ought," he supplied in accents of regret.
"Don't you suppose you could do without?" she begged very gently.
"Will you help me?" He turned on her quickly; then, his delicate instincts perceiving a faint, instinctive recoil at his advance, he added: "Just let me come here occasionally, into this quiet atmosphere, when it gets too hard and I can see no light; just to get your help, the strength I shall need to tide me over."
He looked very handsome and romantic and young. He was apparently very, deeply in earnest. Nan experienced a rash of pity, of protective maternal emotion.