She had not told it at all well, she thought, but Paul little cared how the story was told.
"I do not see it that way at all, Opal. It seems to me—well, diabolical, and may God help you, dear girl, when you, with your high-keyed sensitive nature, first wake to the infamy of it! I have no right to interfere—no right at all. Not even my love for you, which is stronger than myself, gives me that right. For I am betrothed! I tell you this because I see where my folly has led us. There is only one thing to do. We must part—and at once. I am sorry"—then he thought of that first meeting on board the liner, "no, I am not sorry we met! I shall never be that! But I am going to be a man. I am going to do my duty. Help me, Opal—help me!"
It was the old appeal of the man to the helpmeet God had created for him, and the woman in her responded.
"Paul, I will!" and her little fingers closed over his.
"Of course he loves you—in his way, but——"
"Don't, Paul, don't! He has never once pretended that—he has been too wise."
"He will break your spirit, dear—it's his nature. And then he will break your heart!"
She raised her head, defiantly.
"Break my spirit, Paul? He could not. And as for my heart—that will never be his to break!"
Their eyes met with the old understanding that needs no words. Then she pointed to the heavens.