It seemed to her almost monstrous that Joyselle should have
witnessed the little scene in the moonlight.
"You--you saw him kiss me?" she faltered.
"Yes. But that was not the worst. He held open his arms to you, and--you
went to him as if--as if you were giving yourself to him."
"I was, Victor. Surely you understand. He is so good, Theo--so very
good. And I have promised to marry him, and he has been patient, and I
have treated him horribly. The longer I know him the better--I like
him. Surely you can't mind that?"
Joyselle did not raise his hand. He was, she saw with a curious
sensation of detachment, undergoing a severe struggle.
"Mind? I--the situation is--horrible," he began, after a pause. "God
knows I love my son, and I should hate you if you hurt him----"
"I know that," she interrupted quickly, and he looked up.
"Perhaps that is why----"
"Why? No. Ah, Victor, you know that I love you. You must know that. And
yet I have promised to marry him. What are we to do?"
Through the open windows came the sounds of laughter and loud talk, and
someone was playing snatches of a waltz on a violin.
Brigit, feeling that things outside her own control had hastened an
inevitable crisis, stood waiting with the immobility of one consciously
in the hands of Fate.
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