"It interests me--your quiet assumption that my feelings count for
nothing."
Irene reddened. She was conscious of having ignored that aspect of
the matter, and dreaded to have to speak of it. For the revelation
made to her of late taught her that, whatever Arnold Jacks' idea of
love might be, it was not hers. Yet perhaps in his way, he loved her
--the way which had found expression a few minutes ago.
"I can only repeat that I am ashamed."
"If you would grant me some explanation," Jacks resumed, with his
most positive air, that of the born man of business. "Don't be
afraid of hurting my sensibilities. Have I committed myself in any
way?"
"It is a change in myself--I was too hasty--I reflected
afterwards instead of before----"
"Forgive me if I make the most of that admission. Your hastiness was
certainly not my fault. I did not unduly press you; there was no
importunity. Such being the case, don't you think I may suggest that
you ought to bear the consequences? I can't--I really can't think
them so dreadful."
Irene kept silence, her face bent and averted.
"Many a girl has gone through what you feel now, but I doubt whether
ever one before acted like this. They kept their word; it was a
point of honour."
"I know; it is true." She forced herself to look at him. "And the
result was lives of misery--dishonour--tragedies."
"Oh, come now----"
"You _dare_ not contradict me!" Her eyes flashed; she let her
feeling have its way.
Pages:
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360