She held out her hands.
“My darling; my darling. How I love you. And you will give him up?”
She stood still, her eyes raised to his; hers were full of trouble, his full of love. He would face the world and count the loss of all things nothing for her. His was a love worth having, and he was brave and true, worthy of love. He came nearer. He had not touched her.
“Come to me, Launa.”
She turned and let him fold her in his arms, such strong arms.
“You take away my individuality. You are a brute, Paul. Let me look into your eyes; they are true. It is your eyes I see when I talk to him, your voice I hear, your kisses I feel. . . . Paul, don’t tempt me. I have degraded myself enough. Leave me—go. I am wicked, I am wrong.”
“Tempt you? My God, Launa! Am I not tempted?”
“When you hold me I am strong. A woman loves a man who has a strong arm for her.”
He bent down and kissed her face, then her lips, a long, long kiss.
“Launa, can you marry any other man? Be true, dear.”