His words came fast now and thick.

“You know I love you.  That’s why I’ve been such a brute to you—­because I couldn’t have you in my arms and it made me mad.  And you know it.  That’s what you mean when you say it hurts you.  You shan’t be hurt any more.  I’m going to end it.”

He stooped over her suddenly, steadying himself by his two hands laid on the back of her chair.  She put out her arms and pushed with her hands against his shoulders, as if she would have beaten him off.  He sank to her knees and there caught her hands in his and kissed them.  He held them together helpless with his left arm and his right arm gathered her to him violently and close.

His mouth came crushing upon her parted lips and her shut eyes.

Her small thin hands struggled piteously in his and for pity he released them.  He felt them pushing with their silk-soft palms against his face.  Their struggle and their resistance were pain to him and exquisite pleasure.

“Not that, Steven!  Not that!  Oh, I didn’t think—­I didn’t think you would.”

“Don’t send me away, Gwenda.  It’s all right.  We’ve suffered enough.  We’ve got to end it this way.”

“No.  Not this way.”

“Yes—­yes.  It’s all right, darling.  We’ve struggled till we can’t struggle any more.  You must.  Why not?  When you love me.”

He pressed her closer in his arms.  She lay quiet there.  When she was quiet he let her speak.

“I can’t,” she said.  “It’s Molly.  Poor little Molly.”

“Don’t talk to me of Molly.  She lied about you.”

“Whatever she did she couldn’t help it.”

“Whatever we do now we can’t help it.”

“We can.  We’re different.  Oh—­don’t!  Don’t hold me like that.  I can’t bear it.”

His arms tightened.  His mouth found hers again as if he had not heard her.

She gave a faint cry that pierced him.

He looked at her.  The lips he had kissed were a purplish white in her thin bloodless face.  “I say, are you ill?”

She saw her advantage and took it.

“No.  But I can’t stand things very well.  They make me ill.  That’s what I meant when I asked you to be careful.”

Her helplessness stilled his passion as it had roused it.  He released her suddenly.

He took the thin arm surrendered to his gentleness, turned back her sleeve and felt the tense jerking pulse.

He saw what she had meant.

* * * * *

“Do you mind my sitting beside you if I keep quiet?”

She shook her head.

“Can you stand my talking about it?”

“Yes.  If you don’t touch me.”

“I won’t touch you.  We’ve got to face the thing.  It’s making you ill.”

“It isn’t.”

“What is, then?”

“Living with Papa.”

He smiled through his agony.  “That’s only another name for it.