"It has been of advantage to you, Mrs. Bradley. It has attracted me to you."
She looked at him curiously.
"It is not always wise or prudent," she said, "for women belonging to the lower classes to attract rich and aristocratic young gentlemen to them."
"But I'm in earnest, Mrs. Bradley. I'm awfully in earnest. I—I must have you."
"Mr. Malleson!"
"Pardon me! I didn't mean it."
"Mr. Malleson!"
"I mean I did mean it, but I didn't mean it offensively."
"Oh, I'm so relieved. A woman in my station in life has to be so exceedingly careful of her reputation."
"That's all right, Mrs. Bradley. I wouldn't do a thing, or say a thing to in any way—to"
"Thank you!"
"And, besides, I'm honest in all this—dead honest. I mean it; really, I do."
There was no doubt about his earnestness. His face glowed with it. His hands twitched with it. Every line of the body that he bent toward her was eloquent with it.
"Just what do you mean, Mr. Malleson?"
"I—I mean that I love you."
It was out at last. No "honey-tongued Anacreon" could have said more to express his meaning. She sat across the table from him. She had taken one hand from her cheek and was pressing it against her heart. Her eyes were downcast. Her face was flushed with excitement. Between her half-parted lips her white teeth shone. Her labored respiration was manifest even to Barry's untutored eyes. If Stephen Lamar had seen her in that moment and in that mood his impetuosity would have leaped its bounds. Barry was indeed fascinated but he was not propelled.
She lifted her eyes slowly to his.
