The sick man opened his eyes drowsily, and seeing Morland's gaze full upon him, started into wakefulness. He motioned him to come nearer.
“If you marry Norma—” he began.
“If I marry her!” cried Morland. “Of course I'm going to marry her. I'll see any other man damned before he marries her! She's the only woman in the world I've ever set my mind on, and no matter what happens, I'm going to marry her. There are no damned if's about it.”
“Yes, there are,” Jimmie retorted weakly. “I was going to preach, but I'm too tired. You'll have to be especially good to her—to make up.”
“For what?”
“For the wrong done to the other.”
Morland was silent. He went up to the window and stared out across the lawns and tugged at his moustache. The reproach stung him, and he felt that Jimmie was ungenerous. After all, he had only done what thousands of other men had done with impunity. The consequences had been enough to drive him mad, but they had been the hideous accident of a temperament for which he had not been responsible.
“You surely don't believe all that mad fool said yesterday?” he muttered without turning round.
“The promise of marriage?”
“It's a crazy invention. There never was any question of marriage. I told you so months ago. I did everything in my power.”