“No,” said John in the obstinate tone that Herold had known for many years. “You and I are two men, and Stella is a woman, and a hell-mess just like that—” he pointed to the tempest—“has upset our lives. It’s time to put them to rights again.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Herold. “It’s a pity you have chosen to-night. Things are a bit abnormal. Let us go to bed and talk to-morrow, if you like, in the light of common sense.”
John folded his arms. “I’m going to talk to-night. I want you calmly to consider the position.”
“I do,” said Herold. “Stop,”—as John was about to interrupt,—“let me speak.”
“Yes,” said Stella, breaking silence for the first time; “let Walter speak.”
But she stood apart, fascinated by this strange duel, as her primitive ancestress might have done when two males fought for her with flint-headed axes.
“What I feel as regards Stella is neither here nor there. I’ve never told her that I loved her. I’ve never told you. Both you and she have told me that you loved each other. That was enough for me. I joined with Unity in seeking to remove the obstacle in the path of your happiness. If Unity had not forestalled me, I—well, God knows what I should have done! I left you asleep that evening, and went, half crazy, to the flat, and there I found what I found. But, anyhow, Unity committed murder and suicide to set the two of you free. If you want strong, blatant words, there you have them. A girl, one of God’s chosen, has laid down her life for the two of you.” He stood between them and threw up his hands. “Take each other. It is a sacrament.”
Stella, her arms still on the back of the chair, hung her head and stared downward. John cast a quick glance at her and then, a thing which he rarely did, drew his great frame up to its full height and challenged his friend.
“If you don’t love her, she loves you. I know.”
Herold said: