Their lips met, and his heart beat as though it would burst.
“Oh, Marian, Marian, we must never part again!”
For the moment his passion overcame her, and she lay close in his arms, panting, forgetful.
CHAPTER XVI
Alice Lane walked quietly along the pier toward the sea, having left West alone with his wife, who was suffering from one of her racking headaches that formed the chief symptom of her illness. Sedate, tall, well-proportioned, with ample movements and strong, straight, alert gaze, more than one man turned to look after her as she went by, thinking that this was a woman upon whom a man could rely for sufficient help in time of trouble. But calm as was her outward seeming, her brain was busied over the problem which had become the great question of her life, and which she believed would soon have to be answered. She did not think that West had guessed the secret of her love for him, the secret which she had so jealously guarded, but she feared that Agatha had discovered it, for she had noticed lately a coolness in her manner and a watchfulness that was new. She had noticed, also, a distinct change in West’s bearing toward his wife, for which she was puzzled to account. She had all along felt that he would not be able to find abiding content in the companionship of Agatha; that to win his lasting affection something more was needed than mere prettiness and winsomeness, but the change had come sooner than she had expected, and she fancied that perhaps there might be some external influence at work, perhaps another woman. Had Agatha contented West and made him happy, Alice Lane would have suffered silently, have made no sign, would never have attempted to win his love. But if Agatha had lost him, she felt free to take him if she could gain him, no matter at what cost to herself. Her love for him was unselfish, and if by any sacrifice she could achieve his welfare, she would gladly make it.
Both Agatha and he pooh-poohed any suggestion on her part that her visit to them must come to an end, but she had decided that it must do so, and at once. She could no longer bear the strain of guarding her every action, look and word for fear that either of them should see into her heart. That she had some way betrayed herself to Agatha she was assured, but she must keep her secret from Philip until such time as he should have a secret to confide to her. Leave them then she must, returning to town and the companionship of her brother.
She watched from the end of the pier the soft glitter of the sunshine upon the broken water. She tried to puzzle out her future course, but the way was not plain to her. There was this added to her concern, that apart from the breaking up of his love for his wife, West was restless and evidently worried by some business care. It hurt her to think of him alone with his trouble, with no one who, even without understanding, could give him nourishing sympathy. She would have sacrificed her soul to have been free to link her arm in his and to offer to walk the difficult way by his side, not supported by him, not supporting him, but mutually confident, comrades, allies.
She was suddenly aware of some one standing close beside her, and turning slowly found that West was watching her with evident amusement. Taking his cigar out of his mouth, he said:
“A penny for your thoughts!”