And you're not to
think I'm--dishonorable--" he choked over the word.
Knowing the boy's breed, Champneys laid a not unkindly hand on his
shoulder.
"I see how it was," he said. "And--I guess you're punished enough,
without any reproaches from me."
Glenn turned to Nancy. "Why did you do it?" he cried. "I loved you,
I trusted you. Nancy, why did you do such a thing--to _me_?"
She twisted her fingers. Well, this was the end. She was to be
thrust out of the new brightness, back into the drab dreariness, the
emptiness that was her fate. She lifted tragic eyes.
"I never expected you to love me. But when you did--I just _had_ to
let you! Nobody else cared--ever. And I loved you for loving me--I
couldn't help it, Glenn; I couldn't help it!" Her voice broke. She
stood there, twisting her fingers.
An old, wise, kind woman, or an old priest who had seen and forgiven
much, or men who knew and pitied youth, would have understood.
Neither of the men to whom she spoke realized the significance of
that childishly pitiful confession.
Pages:
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321