"
She had risen again, and he found himself shame-facedly
holding her hand. His conscience roused itself and smote
him mightily. Had there always been this absolute
single-mindedness between them?
"You make it necessary for me to tell you," he said
slowly, "that there is one thing between us you do not
know. I saw you at Cheynemouth on the stage."
"I know you did," she smiled at him. "Janet Cardiff let
it out, by accident I suppose you came, like Mr. Cardiff,
because you--disapproved. Then why didn't you remonstrate
with me? I've often wondered." Elfrida spoke softly,
dreamily. Her happiness seemed very near. Her self-surrender
was so perfect and his understanding, as it always had
been, so sweet, that the illusion of the moment was
cruelly perfect She raised her eyes to Kendal's with an
abandonment of tenderness in them that quickened his
heart-beats, man that he was.
"Tell me, do _you_ want me to give it up--my book--last
night I finished it--my ambition?"
She was ready with her sacrifice or for the instant; she
believed herself to be, and it was not wholly without an
effort that he put it away. On the pretence of picking
up his palette knife he relinquished her hand.
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