"There, there! You owe me no apology, and I ask no explanation; it was all a great mistake."
"Yes, and all my fault. She was not to blame; it was my folly. I drove her to--desperation."
"I want to ask just one thing. Was it Ferdy Wickersham who made you believe I had deceived you?" asked Keith, standing straight above him.
"In part--mainly. But I was mad." He drew his hand across his forehead, sat back in his chair, and, with eyes averted, sighed deeply. His thoughts were evidently far from Keith. Keith's eyes rested on him, and his face paled a little with growing resolution.
"One question, Norman. Pardon me for asking it. My only reason is that I would give my life, a worthless life you once saved, to see you as you once were. I know more than you think I know. You love her still? I know you must."
Norman turned his eyes and let them rest on Keith's face. They were filled with anguish.
"Better than my life. I adore her."
Keith drew in his breath with a long sigh of relief and of content.
"Oh, I have no hope," Norman went on despairingly. "I gave her every right to doubt it. I killed her love. I do not blame her. It was all my fault. I know it now, when it is too late."
"It is not too late."