“I’ve suffered tortures, Denham, tortures!”
“Yes, yes, I know that.”
“She’s laughed at me.”
“Never—to me.”
The wind blew a space between the words—blew them so far away that they seemed unspoken.
“How I’ve loved her!”
This was certainly spoken by the man at Denham’s side. The voice had all the marks of Rodney’s character, and recalled, with; strange vividness, his personal appearance. Denham could see him against the blank buildings and towers of the horizon. He saw him dignified, exalted, and tragic, as he might have appeared thinking of Katharine alone in his rooms at night.
“I am in love with Katharine myself. That is why I am here to-night.”
Ralph spoke distinctly and deliberately, as if Rodney’s confession had made this statement necessary.
Rodney exclaimed something inarticulate.