Norah shivered, and thrust her
hands deep into the pockets of her jacket. Lorison uttered a
remorseful exclamation.
"I'm not cold," she said. "I was just thinking. I ought to tell you
something. You have selected a strange confidante. But you cannot
expect a chance acquaintance, picked up in a doubtful restaurant, to
be an angel."
"Norah!" cried Lorison.
"Let me go on. You have told me about yourself. We have been such
good friends. I must tell you now what I never wanted you to know.
I am--worse than you are. I was on the stage . . . I sang in the
chorus . . . I was pretty bad, I guess . . . I stole diamonds from
the prima donna . . . they arrested me . . . I gave most of them up,
and they let me go . . . I drank wine every night . . . a great
deal . . . I was very wicked, but--"
Lorison knelt quickly by her side and took her hands.
"Dear Norah!" he said, exultantly. "It is you, it is you I love!
You never guessed it, did you? 'Tis you I meant all the time. Now I
can speak. Let me make you forget the past. We have both suffered;
let us shut out the world, and live for each other. Norah, do you
hear me say I love you?"
"In spite of--"
"Rather say because of it. You have come out of your past noble and
good. Your heart is an angel's.
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