"Yes—quite glad. I was always very fond of you, Moira; we've been friends for a long time; we were almost sweethearts as boy and girl—weren't we?——Did you speak?"
She shook her head, and after a moment's pause he went on again. And now she looked at him no more.
"I am bound up in my work, and in the future that seems to be opening out before me," he said. "In a sense, I may be said to be wedded to my work; I do not think I ever meant really to marry. But I will give you my name—and that, as I say, I do gladly. You will be Mrs. Larrance—and no one will be able to say a word against you. We shall be good friends—and that will be all. In the eyes of the world you will be my wife; but we shall go on as before."
The silence after that grew to such a length and became so tense that at last Jimmy looked round fully at her, wondering a little that she did not speak. He saw that she stood with her head bowed; he did not know, and did not even guess, that her tears were falling fast in the silence of the room. He did not know, nor did he guess, that for one word of tenderness or kindness in that hour she would have fallen before him, and have kissed his feet.
"Well—you don't say anything," he said at last. "How is it to be?"
"There is no one in your life—no one to whom you might turn—at some other time—if you were free?" she asked in a whisper, without raising her head.
"There is no one," he replied. "You need not fear that."
"And you will take me—knowing what you know—and will give me your name—just because of your promise to the man who is dead—just because you—because you're my friend?"
"Yes." He looked at her steadily; he wondered a little that she should take this matter in such a fashion.
"Then it shall be as you say," she whispered. "And thank you, Jimmy; I think I know all that is in your mind; there is no one else would do so much. Let me know what you want me to do—and when—and I will be ready. And after that we live our lives as before—eh?"