"For months I had been steadily trying to forget her. That night the work of months was undone. She had only to hold out her hands, to speak for a moment kindly, and the truth seemed to flare out in letters of fire. I cannot forget her. I never shall be able to forget her. I own myself, Drexley, one of the vanquished. I love her as I shall never love any other woman in this world." Drexley's face was black with passion, but Douglas would not have him speak. "Wait," he said. "Hear my story first. I left you that night abruptly--as you know. I went to her. I put aside all false modesty. I forgot that I was only a journalist with a possible future and no past--and that she was an aristocrat--my passion carried me away. I knew only that I was a man and she was the woman I loved. So I pleaded with her, and at first I thought that I had won." "Ah. Others have thought that," Drexley scoffed. "She answered me," Douglas continued, in a tone momentarily softened, "as I would have had her answer me, and for a time I thought that I was going to be the happiest man in the world. But--afterwards--Drexley, even at this moment I do not know whether I have not been the most consummate fool on God's earth." "Go on. Speak plainly." "I spoke of marriage--she evaded it. There was an obstacle. I begged for her whole confidence. She withheld it. Then, Drexley, all your damnable warnings, all that I had ever heard of--her vanity, her heartlessness, her self-worship, came like madness into my brain. I refused to trust to my own instincts, I refused to trust her, so she sent me away. And, Drexley, if she be a true woman then may God help me, for I need it." "She sent you away?" "Ay. I spent some miserable days. No word came from her. It was over. Then it chanced that Cicely came to me. She was sympathetic, bright, and cheerful. She made me forget for a little while my despair. I have always been fond of her, I think that she has always been fond of me. You know the rest." "You are going to marry Cicely Strong," Drexley said, slowly. "But you love Emily de Reuss?" Douglas winced. "I am afraid--that you are right," he said. "And have you told Miss Strong," Drexley continued, "that you are proposing to marry her, but that you love another woman?" '' Douglas looked up frowning. Drexley's tone had become almost contemptuous. "Do you think that you are behaving fairly to her?" he asked. "Remember that she is not the child with whom you used to talk sentiment in your little Cumberland village. She is a woman now, with keen susceptibilities--as little a woman to be trifled with in her way as Emily de Reuss herself." The two men faced one another. Douglas was angry with Drexley, angry too with himself. "I believe you're right, Drexley," he said, with an effort, "but I'm hanged if I see what business it is of yours." "It is the business of any man at any time," Drexley answered softly, "to speak for the woman whom he loves." CHAPTER XXXVII