"It’s magnificent!" she said. "Oh, how I have longed for this! How I have waited for it! And now, how I admire—and love you for it!" Her face was so near his that, like an electric spark, the flash of eagerness darted from one to the other. He felt the shock of emotion tingling his blood. It swept his mind from control and flooded his will with an irresistible desire for her. He saw that she was ready for him, willing to be won. He took her in his arms and kissed her softly, but gripping her almost savagely in his embrace. "Do you mean it?" he cried. "Do you love me, really? I can’t believe it! It’s too much for me. Tell me!" She released herself gently, still looking up at him and smiling frankly. "Didn’t you know? You, who know so much of women? I thought you understood me as I have understood you." He still held her, as if he feared he could never get her again so close, and she went on: "Oh, I would never have told you, if you had gone on as you were going, though I should always have loved you—I could never have helped that. But now, after this crisis, this victory—I know what it all means—I _must_ tell you! Why shouldn’t I? It is true, and I am not ashamed to be the first to speak. Yes, I love you!" The reaction came, his sight grew dark at the thought of his unworthiness, and he freed her, putting her away slowly. Then, as if to resist any temptation, he clasped his hands behind his back. "I can’t stand it!" he exclaimed. "It isn’t fair for me to let you say that. Don’t say it yet. Wait till I have told you what I am. Then you will despise me, and hate me." "Never!" she said firmly. "Do you think I don’t know you? I am sure. It is impossible for you to surprise me. Whatever you have been or done, it will make no difference—for better or for worse. Of course, I can’t know all the circumstances of your life, but I feel that I am sure of your motives—I may know an ideal ’you,’ but, if that is not what you are now, it is what you are to be. It is that ’you’ that I love—all the rest is dead, I hope." She swept her eyes about the barren room, and her hand went out in comprehensive gesture. "Surely all this can’t mean anything less than that? You are not one for compromise or half-measures. You have burned your bridges, haven’t you?" "Oh, yes," he said. "I don’t intend to do things half-way. But it’s not a pretty story I have to tell. It’s selfish, sordid, vulgar." "Oh, I know something of it, already. Mr. Cayley has told me about that Bennett affair, for he suspected, somehow, that you were implicated in it. And I have guessed more. You needn’t be afraid. But you had better tell me as much as you can—not for my sake, but for your own. Then it will all be over, and we can begin fresh."