"But how could I help you?" she whispered.
"As only a woman can help a man," he went on more eagerly, pleased with the sudden idea that had come to him, and almost feeling that it had been in his mind for a long time. "I love you, Moira; with you beside me I can fight such a battle as never man fought yet. You shall help me; we'll fight together."
"But, Charlie"—her hands were on his breast, and she was holding him away for a moment—"we are so poor, both of us—so young. After all, although I want to help you—why should I add to your burden? How should we live?"
"Oh, the old parrot cry of living!" he exclaimed, getting his arms about her, and drawing her towards him. "Look here, my dear; the world has behaved pretty roughly to both of us; to me most of all. I've been a bit wild, I know; but no one has properly understood me yet. I can do big things; I can do anything; but I want steadying. Besides—I've always loved you, you know; didn't I hunt for you in London, directly I knew you were here? Say you love me, dear."
"Of course—of course I love you, Charlie," she faltered. "At least, I think——"
"Oh, never mind what you think," he exclaimed impetuously. "The words are enough—you've said you love me. Kiss me; I'll be awfully good to you—and you'll find you've made a new man of me. Don't look so frightened; I've been meaning to say this to you for a long time."
Her lips met his, but with no ardour in the touch; she seemed to be thinking. He kissed her again, and strove to look into her eyes; and asked a little roughly what was the matter. She looked up into his face; perhaps she strove to read there some fulfilment of the dreams that had been hers during these past few years; perhaps she remembered, in that hour, certain words of Old Paul's—spoken a long, long time ago; they seemed to rise like an echo in her heart now. "What will love do to you in the big world, Moira?"
"There is nothing the matter, Charlie; I—I was only trying to think how happy I ought to be," she whispered, with a faint laugh. "Because I thought once—dreamed it, I think—that when love came to me it would be something like the angels one thinks about in childhood—something great and marvellous."
"And isn't it?" he asked, quite simply.
"I don't know—yet," she replied, disengaging herself from his arms. "Perhaps it's because I haven't had time to think about it."